Chilled Legacy
by lauralydney
Summary: An ancient family curse that was long forgotten strikes once again at its new heir. He must keep these new powers secret. A task quite difficult to do when all Draco touches turns to ice. Harry thought his crazy adventures were over after he defeated the dark lord. Strange dreams and a letter from McGonagall lead him to believe otherwise. Snow at Hogwarts mid-summer?
1. Chilled Legacy I

**A/N:** **Yup, this is a weird story. Rated T because I'm not entirely sure were this is headed...Honestly , the worst that can happen is a bit of vulgar language so, just being safe.**

 **2 separate points of view switching between Harry and Draco.**

 **Well, hope you enjoy & please review :)**

* * *

Harry dreamt of the Fiendfyre.

Crabbe fell into the dragon's mouth, only now it was made of icy shards instead of flickering flames, still very much as fierce, if not more.

" _You're not safe. You're not safe!" Draco screamed at him as they flew out of the room of requirements._

It's the same thing he'd hear every night for the last couple days just before he woke up, each dream different, all revolving around ice. This was the first one Malfoy was in, or that the warning had come from someone other than just the wind. Now the scream was almost deafening, and he woke up with a jolt.

Why wasn't he safe? Safe from what?

Not that it mattered in his groggy state. Once fully alert, Harry brushed it off as another senseless nightmare. Bad dreams were something The Boy Who Lived had more than plenty of after the war.  
It had only been a couple months since Voldemort's cold, lifeless body hit the ashy warzone that was Hogwarts' grounds, marking the final victory. That had been enough drama for one school year. Or _any_ school year. Harry decided he'd seen the end of Hogwarts. A celebrity like him—possibly bigger than Merlin—didn't need further magical education to facilitate his future career anyhow.

Luckily, he wasn't alone.

Ron had skipped the rest of his seventh year too, along with Ginny in her sixth. The rest of his undergraduate friends remained at the school. After the battle, the school year was repeated once again due to lack of proper education from the former death eaters running the place. For now, Harry slept in the burrow, taking a well-earned rest from war troubles.  
Life was good now.  
And what a dream life it was. Most nights he and Ginny would sneak onto the roof of the burrow and fall asleep counting the stars. However, Harry was a bit busy counting the flaming red hairs on her precious head.

Everything was good and beautiful until night began.  
Ginny knew of his night terrors. Harry told her all his dreams…except these new ones.  
Something about them was different. They weren't like his dreams of the war. A more hyperreal and—at the same time—dubious sensation of the voice was left in his core once they ended.

Not even the soothing touch of his girlfriend could make it better.

"You look horrid," George told him.

Breakfast in the morning was never easy with such restless nights.  
Of course, George didn't look any better himself. An unshaven beard and—now permanent—bedhead accompanied the bloodshot eyes and dark circles.

Harry didn't say this. Fred's death had been hard on all of them, but mostly George. Breaking down into a hot mess was part of the healing process.  
As was the ex-twin not touching his breakfast—again.  
George stood up from the table after the concerned stares of his parents and siblings' became too much. "I'm going back to bed."

The war had taken a toll on all of them, but day by day, things got better. Weasleys stuck together, and Harry had now become a part of them. He didn't want to think about those who'd been left with no one.

Four owls swooped through an open window, slightly startling Harry in his half-dead state.

"The mail's here," Mr. Weasley stated.

"Anything from Hermione?" Ron asked.

"As always," Ginny answered, giving Ron and Harry their letters.

Ron was quick to open his while Harry waited till the last of his eggs were cleared off his plate.

Ron's eyebrows knitted together. "This is odd," he said.

"She break up with you already?" Ginny asked.

"Not yet," Ron smirked. "But it seems like Professor McGonagall is having a bit of trouble with the enchanted ceiling."

"Trouble?" Ginny asked.  
The whole table looked at Ron. Hogwarts' issues, no matter how small, tended to be of interest to the Weasleys.

"Yes, well, she says the whole school has had random episodes of snow raining down on the Great Hall roof in mid-summer." Ron began to read from the letter, _"The temperature inside_ _has_ _strangely been affected as well. One second the warm summer temperature fills the air, the next we're wearing sweaters.  
The cold lasts up to an hour at most before it mysteriously disappears._  
 _"Strange, isn't it? The celling isn't supposed to make us feel the temperature (as stated in 'Hogwarts a History'), only allow us to see the outside weather. I made some observations myself, but the temperature outside is cold during the moments too. Though, only for a couple feet around the school. I'm not too sure it's the ceiling, but we don't know much about it."_

Ron paused.

"Why'd you stop?" Harry asked.

Ron blushed. "Well, she didn't say anything more about it." He folded the letter. "The rest isn't important."

Harry and Ginny burst into laughter. Mrs. Weasley tried to scowl at them but failed.  
A few jibes were made at Ron before a discussion began on the puzzling weather occurrences.  
Magic did tend to act wild at times. This was something Harry would have brushed off quickly, only taking mild interest on the dull topic.  
If put in muggle terms, defective magic ad Hogwarts had become a broken air conditioner that wouldn't take up too much conversation time to explain away.

However, Harry felt uneasy with this new-found information. Maybe it was post-war trauma; the new explanation for everything.  
But maybe. Just maybe. Something was really wrong.

"Harry, you alright, mate?" Ron asked, beginning to clear the table.

"I'm fine," Harry said, standing up to help before stumbling back down.

"You should get some more rest, dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "I'll get you some blankets and you can nap on the sofa."  
Harry smiled gratefully, holding back a yawn.

Ginny kissed his cheek. "I'll help Ron with the rest of the table, It's alright. You were tossing and turning all night," She whispered the last part as to not inform the household of them sleeping together.

He frowned, still only remembering fractions of the dream.

He walked over to the couch, Hermione's note in hand and lied down. The only things that Harry could remember from the dream were some strange looking animals. Maybe a magical creature for all he knew. They were rocky, small, and big-nosed.  
No, it was not them he'd been afraid of.

The only other thing that came to mind was a young girl around his age. Harry couldn't recall who else was in the dream, or what exactly happened for that matter.

In the end, all he could piece together was a bunch of nonsense followed by the strange ' _you're not_ _safe_ ', but none of it appeared Voldemort related.

 _He's dead._ Harry told himself.

Letting out a deep breath, he repositioned himself into a sleeping position on the couch before unfolding Hermione's letter.

School had only begun a week prior. Hermione had written to them every day since. Other than the celling malfunction, nothing else was off about the letters, including this one. She kept them up to date with the latest Hogwarts' news.

A lot had changed at the school with so many student losses during the battle. The ones that remained had matured after the circumstances, but not too drastically. Teens—unlike adults—adjusted quickly to the grief and damage. Their personalities remained mostly intact.

Hermione spoke about Draco being one of the exceptions. The young Malfoy had become much more reserved and timid. Completely the opposite of his old self. Shame from his actions as a Death Eater must've consumed him over the summer.  
Sideglances and whispers from strangers probably helped with that too.

It was well-deserved, Harry supposed.

Still, nothing was amiss.

With that, Harry relaxed and let his eyes flutter shut.

* * *

 **(Draco P.O.V)**

Sick. He was sick. That had to be it, right?

Some weird magical malady that would soon pass.  
Moaning Myrtle sure didn't think that was the case. _Bloody hell!_ When did she become his only friend?

Yes, he was sick, but there was no need to see Madam Pomfrey. Not that it was such a serious matter which would lead him to not trust anyone but a ghost. It was just that…it would pass. It had to.

The door to the girls' bathroom was locked behind him.

Myrtle soon appeared in front of him.

"Draco, is it back?"

"What?" Draco spat, all but crawling into the stall. "The bloody snow or the panic attack?"

"Well, they tend to come at the same time, Dray," she said, concern in her tone. "But I was talking about the snow."

"I don't know," Draco answered, laying his head on his knees. "Maybe."

"It'll be fine. I had plenty of those when I was alive."

"So you've said." Draco scoffed. "But I bet ice didn't shoot through your fingers when that happened."

Myrtle stayed quiet.

The room began to frost.

"Draco…?"

Then the snow came.

 _"What's wrong with me?"_

Again, Myrtle didn't answer. "I'll go check the corridors."

Draco was left alone. His breaths became shorter, and even though he couldn't feel the cold himself, his body shook.

 _Just calm down._

Yup. That never worked.

Every second felt like an eternity when he felt this way. A constant falling feeling as if his body were plummeting to the ground.  
No one to catch him, no one to—

The stall doors around him froze solid, locking him inside. The coldness spread throughout the bathroom like a plague.  
For crying out loud, when would Myrtle be back?

Once the anxiety passed, it would take quite some work to get out of here. He was already skipping potions. It would be a miracle if he passed _any_ of his classes this year.

"Goodness, Draco!" he heard a ghostly gasp. "It's getting worse!"

"Really? Hadn't noticed."

"The students outside are complaining about the temperature, and there is bits of frost in some areas, but no snow."

His breathing slowed some.

"But they're bound to know sooner or later." Draco sighed.

"We'll keep it hidden. I know we can."

"How?"

"We'll find a way."

"We don't even know what's wrong with me. No book I've found can explain it. I'm done for."

Myrtle floated next to him, her ghostly presence brushing against his shoulder.

That was all she could do. Provide a hollow comfort that would pass right through him.

Not even Draco's parents were aware of his predicament. Even if they were, Draco doubted they would comfort him.

Myrtle was all he had. And in his gut, he knew he'd soon lose her too.

* * *

 **A/N:** **should I continue or..? I wasn't too sure about this fic since I wrote this entire chapter at 2am.**

 **Regardless, hope you enjoyed and let me know I should update :)**

 **-lauralydney**


	2. Chilled Legacy II

**A/N: Thank you to the ones who reviewed! Well, I don't have much else to say other than I hope you enjoy this chapter. I will answer reviews in the bottom Author's note :)**

 **P.S: This chapter is not beta edited yet. This note will be removed once it is. I did my best, and I sure hope I didn't let any errors slip.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy II**

 **(Harry P.O.V)**

"Harry?" Ron called. "Harry! Wake up!"

Harry pulled the covers over his head. "No. Shut up. I don't wanna go to school."

"Mate…you dropped out of Hogwarts with me. Bloody idiot."

Ron shook him. "Wake up, you're at the burrow."

Slowly, Harry came to his senses.

"Did you really hate school that much?" Ron laughed.

The teen sat up. His voice was raspy when he spoke. "No. The rock monsters, they told me to go back."

"The what?"

Harry only realized how ridiculous those words sounded when they left his lips.  
"You were tossing and turning," Ron told him.

Harry nodded. "I think I've slept enough for one day."

"Mom and dad want to talk to us. They received a letter from the headmaster."

"Letter?" Harry mumbled. "Did we do something wrong?"

"Other than drop out? Dunno." Ron twisted his head slightly to the side, motioning for Harry to go with him.

Harry stood up and followed Ron into the kitchen.  
Mr. Weasley sat at the table, his forehead lined with worry while Mrs. Weasley paced around the kitchen, coming to a halt when the two boys walked in. Whatever was in McGonagall's letter must not be good.

A million thoughts flashed through Harry's mind like a blurry picture show. Most ideas of what was happening involved trouble with Voldemort or Death Eaters. He wondered if the acceptance of Voldemort's death would ever truly penetrate his thoughts.

Mrs. Weasley smiled at the two, removing all concern from her face in their presence.

"The headmistress is coming over." Mr. Weasley told them. "She wishes to speak with both of you."

"About what?" Harry asked.

Maybe she wanted them to finish the school year. After all, she had grown to care for Harry and Ron given all they've been through together. In her mind, saving the wizarding world had never been a good enough excuse for dropping out. He relaxed slightly, savoring the possibility that this may not involve war related matters.  
However, the Weasleys' expression left the doubt lingering in the air.

Mrs. Weasley patted Harry's back. "She wasn't too clear, but something involving Hogwarts. I'm sure there's no need to worry."

"When will she be here?"

The fire place crackled loudly.

Mr. Weasley signaled for them to go to the living room. "Now."

The thin wise woman smiled at the family.

"Minevra," Arthur gestured to the chair kindly. "Please, take seat."

"I'll go make some tea,"Mrs. Weasley excused herself.

Harry sat across from her, anxiously waiting for the small talk to be over.  
Lucky for him, the professor was in quite the hurry. She gave short, dismissive answers to most of Mr. Weasley's questions.

Harry looked up when the real business began.

"Now, I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm here," she said. "As you know from my letter, I've come to discuss the strange weather patterns occurring at the school."

 _She wants to talk about that?_ Harry thought, and raised an eyebrow.

"We told students the enchanted ceiling was malfunctioning. As I'm sure you've probably guessed, this is untrue. Now, in all my years of teaching, I know foul play when I see it."  
McGonagall looked at Harry. "From the little evidence we have obtained, I have reasons to believe dark magic at play. A curse, if you will."

"Someone cursed the school?" Harry asked.

"I believe that might be the case. I was hoping you and Mr. Weasley might be of some help to solve our problem."

"Wait," Ron said. "Why'd you call us?"

Mr. Weasley scowled at Ron.

"What I mean is—there's plenty of Aurors out there."

McGonagall nodded. "Very true, Ronald, but given the previous incidents at Hogwarts, some still believe the school not to be the safest place for their children. There is even talk of the ministry attempting to close the school. If word of a curse gets out, we'll be in some serious trouble.

"I don't get much free time as the Headmistress," McGonagall explained. "And you two have untied a number of knots during your school years. I'm sure if manage to discover the origin of this one, I can forget you and Potter's missed graduation."

"Forget it?"

"Yes. If I remember correctly, you and Mr. Potter wished to be Aurors? Quite the hard career to obtain, especially without a diploma."

Harry laughed. "No need to bribe us, Professor. Of course we'll help you, right, Ron?"

"Absolutely…though, I'll still take you up on that diploma offer."

McGonagall smiled.

"It's settled then. Pack your trunks boys; you're going back to school!"

 **(Draco P.O.V)**

Draco had fallen asleep shortly after the panic attack. The amount of emotional energy it dragged out of him affected him physically as well. When he awoke, the girls' bathroom had mostly melted. It now just appeared as though Myrtle had flooded it once more.

"Crap, why didn't you wake me?"

"You looked like you needed your sleep."

" _Shit. Shit. Shit_! What time is it?"

Myrtle shrugged.

Draco ran out of the bathroom to find the corridors empty. The students must've still been in class. Which one, he did not know.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Draco walked for the exit. No use in attending class right now. He'd just tell his teacher his stomach had hurt and was in the bathroom this whole time. It wasn't a total lie.

The sun was lower in the sky, but not near sunset just yet.  
At least he was alone. Being around people made it harder to control the ice. A strange type of discomfort came from being around others. One that hadn't before existed.

Draco snorted. Had he developed social anxiety now too?

The only security Draco possessed at those times he was forced to integrate were his pockets. That small barrier made everything easier.  
This was the reason he headed for Hogsmead, to purchase gloves. It was impossible to maintain his hands covered in class where manual labor was aplenty.

There were only a few clothing stores in this small village. People eyed the teen strangely, recognizing his Malfoy family features. Draco ignored them, stopping at the first clothing store he saw. The mannequin waved at him. Possibly the only one with a friendly greeting for a Malfoy.

The bell jingled as he opened the door. "Hello?" Draco called.

A buff lady with dirt colored hair stood at the counter. She turned at the sound of the clinking sound. Even with the gruff features, her face radiated kindness.

"Hello there! How may I help you, dear? Here for the big summer blowout?"

Draco closed the door behind him. "Actually, I was wondering if you had any winter supplies back in the back somewhere."

"Winter? Like what?"

"Er, gloves?"

" _Hmmm._ I'll be right back." She said, and walked into the back room.

Inside his pockets, Draco crossed his fingers.

Minutes later, the lady emerged, holding a box. "I believe I have what you're looking for," she smiled. "Feel free to look through these."

Inside, there were several different pairs. Draco decided on a thin pair of black gloves. They were slightly fancy, with the palm side covered with even darker leather.

"These will do," Draco said.

"Two silver sickles," The lady told him. "Why ever would you need gloves this time a year?

Draco shrugged and payed her. "School project."

He bid the woman goodbye and stepped out.

Apparently, his time calculation had been a bit off. Only a few steps into the center of Hogsmead, a couple of Gryffindors spotted him.

Dean, Seamus, and Neville made their way towards him.

" _Well. Well. Well,_ if it isn't Malfoy. Not such a perfect prick now are ya? Skipping all those classes will sure give your dear old daddy a headache," Seamus said.  
"Slughorn is looking for you. Something about failing potions." He smirked.

Draco's face felt hot, just as his hands grew threateningly cold. Hurriedly, he slipped on the gloves.

Neville raised an eyebrow, the other boys also eying him strangely. Before they could comment, Draco spoke. "I have to go."

"What, no comeback?" Seamus called.

"Just shut up," he heard Neville say before the running made the voices grow distant.

 _Ugh, Slughorn_. What Draco would give to have Snape back. If there were one adult he might have trusted during this time, it would've been him.

Slughorn hated his guts. As if that wasn't bad enough, the bloody git also adored Potter.

Still, even though he was failing potions, Draco's mood didn't falter too much. As he ran, the young teen could feel the gloves working. Maybe now he could actually go to the library and research his situation without every book he touched frosting over.

Taking a deep breath, he walked through the school gates. It wasn't long before a couple eyes fell on him. The stares turned to glares, and the glares turned to whispers.

Draco's eyes fell to the ground, as if it were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Not the portraits nor the ghost liked him much either.

A few meters from the potions classroom, Draco ran into Luna and Astoria.

"Draco," Astoria said warmly. "I'm so glad I ran into you! We've barely talked this year. Have you been avoiding me? Want to hang out later?"

Instinctively, Draco's hands reached for the pockets, only to realize the gloves were comfort enough.

"The nargles got your hands?" Luna said airily.

Draco avoided eye contact with her and looked at Astoria. After the Death eaters kidnapped her and locked her in his house Draco had found conversations with her more awkward than usual.

"I apologize, "Draco answered, his upper-class manners not yet forgotten. "I've been quite occupied with assignments. I must meet with a teacher now too."

Astoria drew closer, her hand caressing Draco's cheek. "We'll be sure to clear up that schedual of your Dray," she whispered.

Draco gulped and drew back. Arranged marriages were not his cup of tea. Yes, Astoria was beautiful. And yes, his heart thumped like a hammer against cloth when she was near, but these days he wasn't fond of anyone's company.  
He was both lonely and wanted to be alone.

Of course, it wasn't really an arranged marriage. His parents had given Draco plenty of pureblooded options, Astoria just happened to be his favorite so far. Especially after his breakup with Pansy.

"I will," he lied.

"It was nice seeing you, Draco" Luna said, before she and Astoria walked off.

Draco's eyebrows drew together in confusion. Why would it ever be 'nice to see' your kidnapper?

He reached the potions classroom and knocked hesitantly.

"Come in," said an old, tired voice.

Draco stood in the doorframe. "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Ah, yes, Mr. Malfoy," Slughorn said drily. "Have a seat."

Draco bit his lip and sat.

"As you know, Mr. Malfoy, I have a duty as head of Slytherin house. In my opinion—and I hope yours as well—Slytherin is by far the best house in the school, and as its leader, I will not stand for unruly behavior.  
"Care to explain why your been skipping your lessons, failing most all of them, and sneaking out at night?"

"I-

"Professor?" the Headmistress said, walking in. "Oh my. Bad timing, is it?

 _Great. How much had she heard?_

"Not at all," Slughorn said, taking his eyes off Draco. "How may I help you?"

"I just came to inform you that two students will be reenrolling. All the teachers are to meet in my office at 6 to discuss the matters."

Slughorn nodded, not too interested in the announcement. "Might I ask who?"

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley."

That got the older Slytherin's attention. "That's great! When will they be here?"

Draco rolled his eyes, a movement that did not go unnoticed by McGonagall.

"Later on today," She flashed Draco a burning look. " Draco, what did you do this time?"

"What didn't he do is a better question."

"And why on earth are you wearing gloves?"

He looked down at his hands. "The school is cold." Draco said sheepishly.

McGonagall sighed impatiently. Both these teachers were acting as if they were talking to a dumb, useless child. One they couldn't stand the sight of at that.

"Yes, well, we're trying to fix that. Do get your act together Malfoy."

He nodded, glaring at her back when she turned to leave.

When the door closed, the lies began. Draco explained how he'd been both sick and dealing with backlash from the war. That was about as close to the truth as he would let anyone get. Promising to do better, Slughorn let him go.

Had he not been wearing gloves, all those scowls and threats of expulsion would've froze the room. However, the gloves didn't completely protect him.

In the restricted section of the library, Draco began researching, while the books did not freeze over completely, traces of ice creeped in the corners like a malevolent secret only he knew.  
Deciding that today had been stressful enough, he retired to bed.

The room of requirements was as good a room as any. Wherever he awoke, each morning the area was frosted, with the occasional falling flakes of snow. There was no way he could sleep in the dungeons with the rest of his house.

Tonight he would test the gloves' capability to control the wintery plague.

Before tonight, the room of requirements wouldn't allow his powers to reign loose. The temperature would always adjust to a suitable level in order to keep the ice from sticking.

Recognizing Draco's need to test the gloves, it was an average temperature.

After stripping down to his underwear and gloves, Draco jumped in the king sized bed.

He pulled the sheets over his head, wishing someone would hold him. _What a childish thought._  
Nights were the worst. Everything his mind pushed away during the day rushed back like a poisonous river. It trapped him in his thoughts.  
No one wanted him here. Not even his teachers.  
The only real reason he was here was because his father insisted. If only Draco had one real friend here—a live one at least.

Still, more important things were at stake. What would happen to him if someone were to find out about the icy torment?  
There was only one place to treat these sort of things—St. Mungo's hospital. They'd lock him up in a confined room forever. One where he could never hurt anyone.

Escaping the sentence of Askaban would have been for nothing.

His hands balled into fists. "I can do this."  
One last thought crossed his mind before his eyelids fluttered. _Why was Potter returning to Hogwarts?_

* * *

 **A/N: Review replying time!**

 **Guest: Wizards go Muggle? Hmm I believe you have the wrong fic here. But I beg to differ. I believe this one is worse :)**

 **Love Elsa Malfoy (Guest): Thanks for the review! I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that's not what I had in mind for this fic. I'll try my best to add Elsa on here somehow, either through portrait time turner visits, but I cant make any promises. I hope you still enjoy the fic regardless :)**

 **Puella Pulchra: Ask and you shall receive! Thank you! so glad you liked it!**

 **P.S: Review = Faster updates**

 **Have a good week!  
-lauralydney**


	3. Chilled Legacy III

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. I have another fic I'm working on. I'm actually trying to make this my last fanfic so I can start writing novels...yup. Big step...  
I didn't mark the switching POVs in this chapter since it's more or less obvious. I may mark it in some future chapters for some specific scenes but IDK. Now for the big part: THANK YOU FOR REVIEWS! I'll reply to guest reviews bellow. The other ones are PM (unless you prefer it in the Author's note, but you'd have to let me know )  
Regardless, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy III**

Being sick wasn't a complete lie in itself. Draco was unsure if it was due to a side effect of what he was now calling a curse, or a result of the constant time spent in the cold.

Small fits of cough and shivers only lasted up 'till the early morning. At most he'd have an itchy nose at breakfast.  
This morning was different. The gloves did nothing to protect Draco at all during his slumber. The room was an icy chamber of torture. It was enough for even him to feel its bone-chilling touch.  
Draco even awoke _cold._

His sense of temperature had been ' _out of whack'_ ever since the powers had developed. He supposed even this cursed body had its limits.

After sensing Draco's urgent need for warmth, the room of requirements slowly began to de-frosts and melt the surroundings. A drain appeared in the center of the floor where gallons of melted ice disappeared into unknown oblivion.

Watching the crystalized structures crumble all around him caused Draco a strange sensation of grief. Even though the snow made his life a living hell, there was something threateningly beautiful about it, like a rose with ever-growing thorns.  
The patterns and fragments of ice placed together were a poisonous art piece that entangled in his veins. Possibly his undoing.

Snowflakes turned to tears of water, plummeting to the ground. Soon enough, the room was back to normal and the drain caved in.

The coughing continued, this time taking longer to cease. Draco checked the time.  
It was five in the morning. I his mind, too early for any poor soul to awake. _Stupid ice._  
Regardless, he put on his school robes and wandered over to the prefect's bathroom. It was one privilege of his they hadn't revoked.

Once inside, he undressed, turning the water to its hottest setting. While he waited, Draco walked over to the sink and eyed his reflection.  
There were dark circles and bloodshot, fearful eyes where perfection should've been. He took off the gloves and placed them on the sink. Sighing with both determination and weariness, Draco looked into the mirror once more and said, "You can do this. This time— _this time_ you've got it!"

The tub was finally filled.  
Had Draco's hand not been touching the mirror, reflection would have been impossible. The bathroom was a warm fog of steam, the source protruding from the volcanic bath.  
Months earlier there was no way in hell the young teen would have even dipped a toe into such a fiery liquid. But today—like every other day—mundane things such as bathing were experiments.

Draco inched closer to the tub. With one step he took a deep breath and exhaled on the next.  
That was the first part—being as calm and relaxed as possible. The second and final step was slowly and carefully sliding in.

This was the harder of the two. In the beginning the actual temperature could be felt. Draco involuntarily cried out as he slid into the tub, smiling wider and wider the more he got in.

No, he wasn't crazy. It was working.

It was not until both of his legs were under the fires of hell that the water began to cool around him.

Again, Draco cried out, this time in relief. He held back the urge to use his powers on his aching legs in fear of freezing them solid.

After shampooing, conditioning and scrubbing at almost lighting speed (as Draco was trying to do so before the water passed lukewarm temperature), he smiled broadly and celebrated with the most important piece of a good bath; the mountain of bubbles.

The celebration was a well-deserved one. Ever since the mysterious powers had developed, Draco had been quick to find out all he could about them. After multiple failed library searches he decided to take matters into his own hands, learning to control them.

Little by little progress was made. Before, even dipping a toe into the water would freeze its surface, leaving a frustrated Draco to drain it and take a quick shower instead.

However, the growth in the ice mastery was only visible during moments of solitude. Being around others raised his nerves to a new level. One Draco never even knew he possessed.  
A terrible fear of harming others.

This feeling didn't come from nowhere.  
Draco wished he could say that it came from a simple gut feeling, or at worst, a nightmare due to stress from his powers (not that he didn't have plenty of those).  
But the heart-shattering reality of it all was that the damage was already done. Stormberg was dead. Well, sort of.

The rough brown feathers and big brown eyes of his eagle owl were frozen solid. A fight had broken out between his parents at the manor. Lots of yelling. Enough for Draco to lock himself in his room.  
He'd sat at the roof of the bed petting Stormberg.

Draco hadn't foreseen his mother magically shattering the chandelier in a fit of anger. The word _'startled'_ was too light. A noise of that magnitude would've _'startled'_ China. His heart had skipped a beat, and in that beat, the only thing the petrified wizard had seen was bright white flash from his fingertips and the now white feathery body of Stormberg lying unconscious in his hands.

Mere hours later the bird hand turned to ice. The statue was in Draco's room. He was the new medusa as he himself liked to call it.

Yes, his family was broken since the war. Telling them about his illness would only add more fire to the fuel. But alas, he had to after that. The Malfoy's always stuck together. Even in difficult times, family came first.  
They were his parents after all, right? They would still love him no matter what, right? Wrong. Thinking back on it Draco realized that way of thinking was far too naïve for his own good.

He had waited a couple hours after the fight before telling them. His powers had been more out of control back then compared to today.  
Draco walked down to the living room where his mum and father were. His mum had been staring silently in to space while his dad read the paper. As large and spacious was as the room was, the atmosphere was asphyxiating. The silence pained him.

"Mother? Father?"

His mother looked up, as if waking up from the deepest sleep. "What is it, love?"

"I think I'm sick."

His mother rushed over at once while his father put down the paper and eyed him with concern from the couch. At least their care for him was still an intact fragment of the broken shards.

"Oh dear!" Narcissa said, coming closer. "Let me feel your forehead."

Draco backed up immediately. "No!"  
The teen's heart raced as he remembered his frozen pet. Those cold, lifeless eyes staring back at him had morphed into his mother's.

Narcissa paused. "What is it?"

"Don't come any closer!"

Lucius stood up from the couch. "Draco, do not speak to your mother in that tone. Now come here and let me have a look."

Both parents advanced on him. It happened to fast. Draco put his hands up defensively, going into panic mode.  
"Just stay away from me! Stay awa-  
More white light erupted from his hands. It swooshed past his mother's face, hitting a nearby vase, freezing it instantly.

It was a look Draco would never forget. The fear in their eyes. The scream. The way Lucius had shielded her from him—their son. He was a monster.  
Showing them the remains of Stormberg was a hard thing to do, but the weeks that followed were harder. Sure, they were worried about him, but that didn't make the secretive arguments and constant contact avoidance any less difficult.  
Family dinner was near impossible.  
After the fifth frozen fork Draco decided to eat in his room.

"It's okay, dear," Narcissca had said soothingly. She then commanded a house elf to fetch him more silverware. Her voice didn't match her eyes. Terror was hidden behind them. Terror that Draco might someday hurt her. Accident or not, it was irrelevant.

None of those little hints were missed. Not the side glances, nor the way Lucius used his wand to pass the salt rather than hand it to him. Damn them.

That summer Draco had seen every live-in doctor his parent could afford. When the cure was not found, each had their memories erased before leaving the house. _Obliviate_. He'd memorized every syllable.  
The last straw came on stress filled day when Draco had accidentally froze over the living room and his mother had slipped on its ice.  
He'd apologized a million times. His mother had assured him it was alright. It wasn't.

Draco walked towards his parents' bed room that night to bid them sweet dreams (and apologize again). Right outside the door was where he heard it. The words that cut off the one string that held him together to a safe heaven.

"We can't send him away!" Narcissca protested.

"It's what's best for our son. The boy is a ticking bomb waiting to explode!"

No choice was given to him. He had to keep this family together.  
It was a dry, hollow cry. All the pain from a breakdown without the actual tears. Draco sat outside the door for about three hours, waiting until they were fast asleep.  
When he heard the first snore he—without hesitation—retrieved any memories of his powers from them. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. To him his parents had become only bodies with minds now. _Minds lacking heart. soulless, just like the other death eaters._

Repeating this made the moments of sitting on the cold stone floor manageable. After that, shouting "Obliviate!" had been child's play.

Child's play of a child who would now face the game alone.

"Earth to Draco?"

The blond teen awoke from the day dream with a jolt. How long had he been in there? The water was way passed lukewarm. Startled, he looked towards the feminine voice.  
"What the hell, Myrtle!?"

Myrtle giggled as Draco attempted to cover himself up with the remaining bubbles.

"No much point, Dray. I've been to this bathroom plenty of times. It's not the first time I've seen you naked."

Draco turned red, scrambling for a towel. "You disgust me."

* * *

The weeks prior Draco would only eat food after or before it was served by going to the house elves. With his gloves, eating at the table finally became a possibility, though he wasn't sure the secret feeding had entirely been encouraged by the circumstances.

The minute the young blond entered the great hall multiple eyes fell on him. First, one would notice his presence, and then they'd all follow, like a falling dominos.

The tables turned to the house animals. Gryffindor lions roared hungrily, ready to devour the weak snake. Ravenclaw eagles squawked protectively, anxious to peck his eyes out. Slytherin, his supposed home turned their beady eyes away in whispering hisses. The only ones left were the Hufflepuffs. Pathetic harmless badgers. While they were his safest sitting choice, it would be too humiliating.

"Yup. Myrtle looks like she needs bathroom company," Draco mumbles drily.  
His feet carried him back towards the door. Before his hand could reach for the handle, the whispers turned to gasps, and the gasps to shouts.

" _Harry!"_

" _Potter's back!"_

" _It's the Boy who lived!"_

Draco looked back to see a rushing crowd of all years from first to seventh. Harry smiled alongside Ron who too shared part of the fame.  
It appeared that only he and a few other Slytherins weren't running to worship The Chosen One.  
Potter's bright green eyes met his just moments before he was smothered by the fans and friends.  
" _Oh brother."_ Draco rolled his eyes before pushing the door open. It turned out he wasn't that hungry.

* * *

" _Nice to see you too! Thank you. Um…can we take that picture later? Autograph? No, sorry, I don't have a pen."  
_ Harry repeated all these things frequently. Today more than ever. However, the broken record was " _I'm no hero."_

Escaping the crowd was near impossible. Maybe he should have taken up that offer from Rita Skeeter of a body guard. All the attention was overwhelming and the crowd only kept growing. It was a relief when McGonagall finally put a stop to the nonsense.

"Student! Back to your tables!"

Harry and Ron hurried over to her.  
She smiled warmly at the two. "Glad to see you're here boys. I must apologize for the chaos. It's no wonder you two are locked up in that burrow all the time. Either way, you should definitely get out more.  
"Come along," she stood. "follow me. We'll talk in my office."

Harry and Ron nodded, and then politely waved to the other teachers at the table.

They gave one last glance to the crowd behind them.  
Draco crossed his thoughts just before leaving the great hall. Hermione wasn't exaggerating when she had mentioned him in her letters. The sunken eyes and empty stare. It was a zombie more than a student.

The talk with Mcgonagall was quick. She explained that they were under no obligation to do any assignments. The grades taken from such things as class activities or exams were just for show. Keeping up appearances was the only thing aside from their job they would be doing inside the learning institution.  
There would be times when attending class would be unnecessary altogether. McGonagall had invented the false recuperation program. Other students would believe them to be making up lost work and lessons with tutors while they would be scrutinizing the school.

After Harry asked, she'd agreed that students such as Hermione, Neville, and Luna Lovegood were allowed to be informed of the mission. If they wanted to join, they were welcome to. Harry didn't want to tell anyone other than bookworm Hermione (since she was bound to know something was up already) just yet. Given how badly he wanted to be an auror, maybe this could prove to be good training if Harry did most of it alone.

A small silence passed through the room as he and Ron examined what used to be Dumbledores's office. Not much had changed. McGonagall must not have had much time to redecorate, but Harry suspected she just didn't want to. The essence of the man with the half-moon spectacles drifted through every knickknack and ornament in the room.  
Its tranquility shattered when a loud sneeze from outside killed the moment.

Everyone else had also been caught up in the brief remembrance. McGonagall blinked. "Well, get to class for now boys. I'll have your trunks delivered to your old room."

"Thank you, Professor," Ron and Harry said.

Harry sighed. "Back home at last," he whispered to Ron.

"Even better now without the bloody school work."

Harry grinned as Ron walked ahead of him.

The red teen ran down the stairs, Harry losing him from view. To the Weasley, Hogwarts had been nothing more than a portion of his complicated childhood years. Harry had a more sentimental entanglement with the old castle, causing his footsteps to slow, taking everything in.

" _AAAH! Ouch!"_

"Ron?"

"Bloody hell…"

Harry ran down the stairs.  
Ron was sitting upright on the ground, clutching his leg, staring at something to the near right.  
Harry hopped off the last step to get a better look. His feet slid. The ground crunched slightly under his weight.  
 _Ice._ It covered meters of the area around them.  
The ground glistened, having morphed into their personal skating ring. Ron must've slipped on it. Harry followed his friend's gaze to an enormous structure at the end of the frozen trail.  
A small mountain of shards of ice. It was like a small ocean wave, frozen in its climax. A blast of ice. There was no other words to describe it.

The rest of the school was intact, making this spot next to the door look like a small winter island amongst warm alien territory.  
This had to be a trap. Maybe a warning. Someone—whatever was causing this snow knew they were on to it—or him. Dark magic indeed.

Just barely sliding through the ice without falling, he and Ron headed to class, unsure of what to make of the chilling threat.

* * *

The hall had been empty, but Draco still had to make sure no one had seen his little slip up.  
Once the coast was clear, he ran as far as he could from the crime scene. Right beside the Headmistress' office of all places!  
 _'Note to self: hold back sneezes at all costs.'_

* * *

 **A/N: (guest) REVIEW REPLY TIME!**

 **Hikari Tsuki: If there was a way to hug you through this computer, I would. Thank you so much, this made my day XD  
Hope you liked this chapter!**


	4. Chilled Legacy IV

**A/N: Sorry for the wait!  
Excuse: My life has reached a new level of stressful. Somehow I'm laughing instead of crying. I guess I'm laughing at my life lol.  
A bit of a trigger warning for those sensitive to reading about panic attacks. Sorry, I just though these scenarios would fit given the amount of fear the character has to undergo.  
Pleaaaaseeee review! It really motivates me to write these chapters faster and just write altogether! negative, positive, all (constructive) reviews are welcome!  
P.S: I'm not sure where my beta is, but I did my best to edit this chapter on my own. It's hard when you write it. A few typos may have escaped my eye. So sorry if you find one! I know how annoying that can be. I'm on it guys...she'll be back.**

 **Hope you enjoy!  
-lauralydney**

* * *

 **Chilled legacy IV**

Harry wasn't going to lie; he was taking it easy.  
It was only his second day back to Hogwarts. Catching up with friends and teachers was the priority—a few pranks on Flinch here and there, visiting Hogsmeade, racing around the Quidditch field, grabbing some snacks from the house elves, and zero mystery solving.

All those wasted moments had, of course, only been his first day. Harry slept soundly in the Gryffindor dorm, never having imagined just how grave the snow plague really was.  
It's not that he had forgotten the previous morning.  
 _Whatever was behind this dark magic had to be a person. That was enough mystery solving for one day, right?_

Maybe it really was just him wanting to take it easy, but a small nudge in the back of his mind told him that he wasn't all too ready to get back into the crime fighting action. All the friends he'd lost and mental scars he'd obtained made jumping into danger a bit less thrilling.

As was the life of Harry, more than one days' rest was enough before either _he_ woke up and got to work, or the universe did its thing.

In the broad morning daylight, the young wizard walked down to the breakfast table, chattering merrily amongst friends.  
The great hall was a bit chillier than usual, but Harry could hardly tell the difference. While the air might be cold, the atmosphere was warm with smiles, chatter and steaming food.  
He sat, watching the various owls' occasional arrival.

Hedwig brought him a letter. It was from the Weasleys. Deciding to read it later, Harry shoved it in his robe pocket, digging in to his eggs and toast.

Draco entered the cafeteria, not looking any better than the last time Harry had seen him. Though, one thing stuck out to him this time— _gloves.  
'Yikes. School must be colder than I thought.'  
_Guilt, like that of a student procrastinating homework crossed his mind before Harry waved it off (again) for later.

An owl, far too small to carry anything larger than a small book, flew over the students heads, yapping and squawking as he dove up and down in attempts to not drop the package.

A few students laughed and pointed.  
Harry saw what looked like either a snow globe or crystal ball tied messily with strands of grass. The owl clung to its strange basket, but after passing the Hufflepuff section, its claws gave away, the ball falling on the Gryffindor table.

I shattered. Shards of glass flew and smoke filled the room. Students near the accident stood up instinctively coughing and complaining, only to freeze when the smoke began to take form.  
The mist was familiar. Harry remembered the whitish-gray fog that had brought memories of a younger Syllabus Trelaway.  
 _A prophecy!_  
In his state of shock and intrigue, a quick thought crossed his mind before the seer was revealed— _please don't be about me. Please don't be about me. Please don't be about me.  
_ A ghostly figure appeared before them. It was short with a large nose. Harry recognized it.

This was no human seer. In all honesty, Harry had no idea _what_ it was.  
Short and wide. Harry could be wrong, but it the creature appeared to be made of stone. In fact it looked as if someone had simply carved human features on a stack of boulders.  
It grated against itself as it moved, and yet seemed surprisingly limber. Its skin was stone gray and unyielding with a thick mat of grass, apparently its hair. It wore clothes (also of grass) twigs and other natural object.  
 _Is that thing dressed in moss?! Gross!_

The eyes were the only thing Harry could not make out. They glowed a bright blue, unfocused and distant.  
This was the same being that appeared in his dreams.  
In a gruff voice it chanted,  
 _"Your future is bleak!_

 _Your kingdom will splinter._

 _Your land shall be cursed_

 _With unending winter!"_

It paused, hands clutching the stone head.  
The room echoed with gasps and whispers. Everyone at the Gryffindor table had moved back a couple feet while the other tables leaned closer.  
Harry looked toward McGonagall. She was speechless. Harry was unsure if she'd ever witnessed a prophecy before. From what he knew, the Headmistress thought all that seer magic was nonsense. But there was no way to deny the truthful danger at hand.

They'd seen the sings before their eyes—frosted corridors, snow inside classrooms, floors turned to skating rings.  
This was all happening too fast. He'd just arrived back and already peril was knocking at Hogwarts' door.  
The cover was blown. Hogwarts was in danger and now all of them knew it.

 _"With blasts of cold will come dark art,_

 _And a ruler_

 _With a frozen heart!"_

 _Then all will perish in snow and ice!_

 _Unless you are freed with a sword sacrifice!"_

The light in the monster's eyes faded just before all of it vanished into the air.

It took only seconds before someone yelled. "We're going to freeze!"  
Then, "the ice will kill us!"

All eyes were turned on him as if they expected him to pull out some magic sword and vanquish the icy ruler.  
Instead Harry stared at where the shattered prophecy lay.  
"Student evacuate immediately!" McGonagall yelled over the panicked crowed.

In just a few minutes the peaceful breakfast had turned to chaos.  
Some first years had already started crying, and the older student's weren't of any help—pushing, shoving, and chasing down Harry for answers.

A few Prefects were doing their job correctly, but the fear and confusion was poorly hidden.  
Draco for one had turned a couple sheets whiter. If any more blood drained from his face he might have been transparent.

When the area cleared out only Harry, Ron, and McGonagall were left.

The culprits name had to be scattered somewhere in the remaining pieces.  
He supposed the only real way to solve the mystery was to find out who the _frozen ruler_ was and…well to do the whole _sword sacrifice thing._

Killing Voldemort had technically been an accident. The wand had backfired. The young teen had never intentionally murdered anybody in his life. Saving others was one thing, but to take another's life in the process? It was just unthinkable. Undoable. Madness. Cruel.

Walking over to the shatter prophecy felt a lot like his first day at Hogwarts. Instead of ' _in which house will you be?'_ it was ' _what student will you kill?'  
_ With each step his feet felt heavier.  
Careful not to cut himself on the fragile glass, he searched.  
The pieces were still hot. It reminded him of the warmth of a body. Someone's life had been predetermined for death just as his had been.  
When his eyes finally landed on the single tag, Harry imagined the glass turning cold.  
Cold like the soon to be lifeless body of destiny's new puppet.

Out loud he read _, "The Ruler of Arendelle"_

* * *

It was happening again.  
 _Count four things you can see. Four you can touch. Four you can…_

 _I can't be having a panic attack. I'm the Prefect. I have to help the first…_

"Pansy!" he yelled her name, but the voice didn't feel like his.  
Nothing felt real.  
It was like he'd detached himself from the earth. Draco's chest hurt with every intake of breath. Each lung filled gulp felt like empty space consuming his body.  
A falling sensation—plummeting without end—even though his feet were on the ground.  
He could feel his heart beat in his throat, but regardless that he counted the thumps, time was unreal.

That wasn't even the worst part; the longer he stood there the colder his hands felt.

"What, Draco?" Pansy answered after the fifth call.

"Lead the snakes without me. I have to use the loo."

"No . Don't leave me with them, just hold-"  
Draco had already started running.

He was aware how eyes turned his way the faster he ran. When he finally reached myrtles bathroom—panting and internally destroyed—no ghost girl was there to greet him.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. _Shit!"_

There weren't many things Draco was sure of. But one thing was certain; this was the worst panic attack he'd experienced yet.  
Sure, after the war the young teen had had his share of terrible episodes, but this was anxiety disguised as death was knocking right on his door.  
' _You are dying,'_ it whispered _. 'This feeling will never end. Isn't it best just to end the pain yourself?'_

"No!" Draco yelled. "It will end! It always does…"

 _'Not this time. Hah! Even if you did try to escape me **,** this feeling would accompany you in death.'_

"Shut up!"

 _'But you thought about it, didn't you? Escaping me by—"_

Draco ran to the toilet. Somehow trying to make himself hurl gave him even just a millisecond of escape.

After the third try he sunk back, away from the toilet, and curled up into a ball.

How long had it been? Why wasn't it ceasing?

' _The ice helps,_ ' a voice whispered.

Maybe he finally cracked, but unlike his inner demons, this voice was clear. A soft, encouraging melody that went beyond the boundaries of a though. It was like the magic itself was speaking in his head.

"The ice?" Draco asked. At first he felt stupid, but then, ever so softly, the voice answered back.

'Your _ice.'_

Was he going mad? Again; maybe. But Draco didn't care. Anything to make the feeling stop was worth a try, even if hearing voices was not something he should just flow with.

The room was still bare. The minute Draco removed his glove frost spread throughout the walls like famine.  
 _'No. Not like that. Don't be afraid. This is yours, you control it.'_

"I-I don't know how!"

 _'Just concentrate and let it go.'_

Let it go? Catchy. Still, it sounded easier said than done.  
Focusing on anything at this point was like trying to pinpoint solid walls during an earthquake. Regardless, with his glove-less hand, Draco shakily aimed at the mirror.

Nothing happened.

 _'Relax. Think of something calming. Something beautiful even.'_

Calming; no. Beautiful he was able to manage.

His favorite flowers—sun flowers—popped into his head.  
An interior swirling patter of the silky, yet spiked center. The best way Draco could describe the core of the blossoming beauty was a forest.  
It was simple looking from a distance, but up-close one could get lost in the variety of seeds.

The petals, unlike the center, where smooth, almost like a yellow velvet waterfall.

 _'Look.'_

A frame was forming around the mirror; crystalized sunflower patterns in tangles of sculpted vines and leaves. It spread to the wall, framing around every mirror.

With every blast of cold Draco felt heavy relief. He was a mule whose luggage was being thrown off. Box by box, the anxiety left him.

This was the first time Draco felt glad to have his powers.

Lightweight. He felt lightweight. Walking on air and confident with every controlled blast. _Controlled._

"I'm controlling it!"

The voice was gone, but Draco didn't ponder on it. Instead he let himself get taken away by the joy of solitude and his snow parade.  
He covered the ceiling in sunflower chandeliers and turned the floor into a pathed skating ring, each leading to a stall where icy sunflowers blossomed from the porcelain thrones.

"Draco?"

Abruptly, he stopped, his heart skipping a beat.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Myrtle!" He glared at her for startling him. "I. Could. Have. Died."

"Not funny. What on earth did you do to my bathroom!?"

"You have to admit, it looks nicer."

Myrtle eyed him strangely, floating down from the ceiling. "You seem happier than usual."

She was right. It was then he realized that the anxiety was gone. Draco smiled broadly. "I guess I never knew what I was capable of."  
Myrtle looked around, taking in the detail of each frozen fractal. "It is wonderful, Dray…but you should probably get rid of it."

"Get rid of it? Why?"

Still looking around, Myrtle said "Even _I_ heard what happened. If they find out you're the prophecy, they'll kill you."

Draco's face turned white. "The prophecy!" _How could he forget?_  
"My name…it had to be on it!" Draco waved a hand to melt the ice, but nothing happened. His heart pounded and the flowers grew icy thorns, sharp and extending.

"Stop it!"

Draco tried again to no avail. "It's not me!"

 _'It's the fear.'_

Draco's eyes widened at the return of the voice. He scrambled for his glove and put it back on. The thorns shrank back.

After a whole minute of silence, Draco spoke. "I'm sorry. I have to leave."

Myrtle floated in front of him, stopping him. "You're name wasn't on the prophecy."  
"Wh-"

It said ' _Ruler Of Arendelle'_."

Relief flooded him like the first intake of air.  
"I'm safe?" Draco mumbled to himself.

A cold rush tore at him as he ran through myrtle. No time to apologize. Finally, the young wizard had his first clue.

 _Arendelle._

* * *

Classes were still on even after the whole 'school is in peril' ordeal. Draco decided to show up (It would look out of place if he didn't). Luckily it was only history of magic.  
Despite popular opinion, Draco actually liked this class. You could fall asleep without getting yelled at and all you needed was a last minute cram session for the exams.

He arrived late, but most of the class was passed out already or also missing. Chaos was the perfect opportunity to skip class, but Draco was risking nothing.

Luna sat in the back with one empty seat left at her table. Anyone else awake was shooting daggers at him. Grudgingly, he sat beside LoveGood.  
 _Don't talk to me. Don't talk to me._

"Hello Draco."

Draco nodded in her direction and pretended to copy notes.  
 **'Hears voices.'  
'Has no friends.'  
'Is scared of being scared.'**

"Astoria went looking for you after all the commotion. She's really worried about you."

Draco stopped scribbling.  
"Worried?"

"She said you haven't been the same after the war. I think so too."

Typical Luna. Blurting out everything about anything. For a Ravenclaw she was too dumb to understand the term _privacy.  
_ Then again, how could _she_ tell he was different? It's not like he ever talked to the likes of her before.

"I mean you're actually talking to me for once," Luna said.

Oh.  
That had to stop.

 **'Talks to Loony.'**

Needless to say, Luna followed Draco out of the classroom after their lesson ended. The way she tagged along would make any clueless bystander think they were old pals.  
"Beat it Loony, unless you want to see just how much I've changed."

Either she didn't hear him or wanted to take him up on that offer.  
What was he supposed to do? Hit her? He was a Malfoy—a gentleman—not a barbaric brute.

 _Speaking of barbaric brutes._

"Luna!" Potter called.

He came running towards them. "We're having a meeting after lunch in McGonagall's office," Harry told her wilts glaring at Draco.

 _"Oh please, do retrieve your pet,"_ is what Draco wanted to say.  
It's what he would've said.  
Words failed him.  
Saying maturity had won over would be nice, but that wasn't true. Fighting with Harry just didn't have a point.

 _"Watch it, Malfoy."_

 _"Or what?"_

Then _boom,_ a duel.  
The things that used to be fun seemed pointless now.  
 _What didn't seem pointless?_

Snowflakes accompanied with cold blasts of air came to his mind. Playing with his new powers had been the first fun thing he'd done in a while.

Draco must've spaced out because Harry had stopped glaring and was looking at him funny.

 _Should I say something? What?_

Draco made a mental note to write ' _mute_ ' and ' _spaces out'_ on the paper aswell.

Thank heavens for Astoria Greengrass.

"Draco! Draco!"

He turned to find her smiling brightly behind him. Harry scattered, still looking off put, but Luna stayed.

Basically spitting rainbows and sparkles, Astoria said, "the mascaraed ball is coming up! You'll go with me, won't you?"

She was joking right? This was one of the biggest social events of them all. It was a party only meant for seventh years, but most everyone showed up anyway.  
This is the type of stupid nonsense he was into before the war.  
Now the thought of so many people sent his stomach on a backflip marathon. Chances of panic attack: 84%

But this was Astoria.  
She just looked so happy and cute with those twinkling eyes. The way she so quickly rushed to him, already expecting a 'yes' warmed him inside.

"With you?" he wrinkled his nose.

Her smile began to fade before his grew into a smirk. "Of course I'll go with you."

"You're so mean! I hate you!"

Draco put his hand on her head and ruffled her hair. "Sure you do."

* * *

The library was cold. Maybe it was the curse, but Harry remembered it always being cold here. This was the one place he hadn't visited since his return.

To be honest he didn't really know what he was looking for. Maybe a book with a cover along the lines of _'How to Stop Magic Ice Curse Threatening to Destroy Your School Unless You Kill One of Its Inhabitants: Step By Step Guide for Dummies'._

But for now Harry just went with _'Ice'._

There was a vast section of ice related magic in the library— _The Sorcery of Ice Sculpting, Frost Fairies, How to Train Your Snow Monster,_ and the list went on.  
Harry settled for ' _Heat Charms: Keep Your Home Warm During Any Winter'.  
_ He searched high and low for anything on Arendelle, but came back emptyhanded.

The meeting with McGonagall hadn't gone smoothly.  
Complaints from parents were flooding in along with more letters from the ministry. About three students had been pulled out of the school by some preoccupied guardian, leaving with the expected threat to sue the school.  
This all just happened before 5pm today.

The Headmistress had given Harry permission to recruit as many members of the D.A as he thought were necessary.  
Luna and Neville were the only ones he was willing to involve.

His hope had been on the findings in the library.  
Harry sat at one of the study tables and gazed up at the celling. Maybe if he focused hard enough, the answers would fall from the sky.

Even in all this chaos the corridors bubbled with chatter of the dance.  
Canceling it seemed logical, but that might just worsen the matter.

Sometimes a bit of normality was all it took to hold your life together.

A cough awakened him from his daydream.

He scooted the books from the bookshelf in front of him. Now with clear view of the study table on the other side, he spotted Draco Malfoy, absorbed in his studies.

Hermione had been right.  
Draco had changed, and Harry wasn't sure it had been for the better.  
Of course, it was nice not to engage into any (physical, verbal, or magical) violence this year, but there was definitely something off with the bully.

Harry had seen several cases of trauma after the war, all expressed differently, but Draco's went a bit beyond.  
The depression was more than obvious—thin, with tired eyes and a resting bored look.  
However, if you stared at him long enough, his eyes told a deeper story.  
They were empty. Unfocused. Dead.

On the few occasion that they shimmered with any light was when the flame of fear lit them up.

What could have possibly caused this?

Malfoy looked up, then down, pretending he hadn't seen Harry.

Now that he thought about it, Malfoy must know a great deal on dark magic. If they were on speaking terms it would be easier to ask. As awkward as this would be, it needed to be done.  
Surviving what was to come was more important than a simple childhood rivalry.

After all, Draco hadn't sold the out to Voldemort back in his manor, and Harry _had_ saved his life that one time…

"Hey," Harry began.  
There was no way for the Slytherin to fake deafness.

Still, all he did was raise an eyebrow with that hollow look of his.

"Er…What are you reading?"

Wordlessly, Draco lifted the book to reveal the cover.

 _Ogre Wars._

History of magic. Such a conversation starter.

"You going to the dance?"

Draco shrugged.

After half a minute of silence, the first words finally left Draco's lips. "What is it, Potter?"

Malfoy's voice was hoarse, but now Harry at least knew he still had one.

Did Harry trust Malfoy? No. However, the whole school freezing over thing wasn't much of a secret anymore, so it couldn't hurt to let Malfoy in on his mission.  
Determinedly, Harry looked into his silver eyes and said the one thing he'd swore Draco Malfoy would never hear from his mouth: "I need your help."

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you guys liked it! Yeah? Nah? Let me know in the reviews! I wish you all a wonderful week!  
** **P.S: review= faster updates :) #DontKillMe**


	5. Chilled Legacy V

**A/N: I'M BACK!  
This chapter was originally 6k words, but I split it in 2. Chapter 6 is already complete. I just need to edit it, so I should be posting it sometime this week.  
Enjoy!  
-lauralydney**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy V**

"Come again?"

"You heard me," Potter said. "Can we talk?"

"I…"

Regardless of what Draco planned to say, Harry walked over to him and sat down.

 _Ah yes. How may I assist you, oh great chosen one?_

Even with the lack of hostility between them, Harry was clearly both disgusted and uncomfortable in Draco's presence.  
The young wizard recalled an old novel he once read. "Talk!" by Lisa Evermont. Not a very well-known British witch, but the book was decent.  
He couldn't help but compare himself to the main character, Lucas. Always at loss for words these days. A million and one thoughts per second, but not a croaking noise to compensate.

It had been very boring road trips that lead Draco to read such a depressing tale. That much he could pinpoint. When the tale had turned to his life was still lost in the sea of questions.

"You know a lot about the dark arts, yes?"

The familiar boasting sensation rose to his throat, but was quickly shut down when the verse rang in his head:  
 _From blast of cold will come dark art, and a ruler with a frozen heart._

How stupid did Potter think he was? _Of course! That's why he was here at Hogwarts. Wonder boy couldn't help but come to the rescue again._ Draco bit the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. He had to get himself out of the suspect list.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco meant to say harshly, but it came out empty, like a ghost trying to look alive.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Nothing. Just that…well, you probably know more about curses than I do. Can you tell me anything about this one?"

 _Uh, yeah._  
"No."

Harry mistook his defensive manor for rudeness. He was standing up to leave when Draco asked, "What makes you think it's a curse?"

"What? You think it isn't?"

"Of course it is. It has all the aspects of dark magic. Spontaneous and unpredictable."

 _Play along. If you try to help you'd be the last on his kill list._

"Have _you_ ever seen anything like it?"

"Not personally. I hear the native Sami dealt with these types of curses often."

Harry's eyes widened. Draco realized he actually did know more than he should. No one had to tell him it was a curse.  
Answering the basic questions was necessary. When the more complex ones came he'd lead Harry down empty rabbit trails.

"Would you happen to have any idea on how to stop it? Find out who's doing this?"

 _Bingo._

Draco leaned back and bit his lip, pretending to think about it.

The library was empty. Each little move he made echoed throughout the halls. Could Harry hear his pulsating heart? The fresh wind of depravity? The need use his powers gnawing at his insides?  
Pain must be a side effect. The snow did him more harm than good.

"I'd go with examining the areas the snow is most present in. You might find your answer there. As for whose doing it? Check the student records for new arrivals. People who've never been to this school before should be your first suspect."

Harry was practically glowing. The young blond's lips twitched into a smirk.

The Gryffindor asked a few more questions before looking satisfied. He asked if Draco was willing to talk to him again later and Draco agreed.  
Potter stood to leave. Maybe it was Draco's imagination, but the corners of the room were growing dark.

Grabbing some books, he stood to leave. A quick movement. Far too quick. The room darkened even more, like the fading scene of a movie. Draco felt light-headed and nauseous. A high ringing sound overtook all other sounds in the room.  
Two steps and he was down.

 _Draco Malfoy is helping me._  
Nope. Not happening. That guy definitely wanted something out of this.

Harry had been right about one thing; Draco was definitely an expert on dark magic. In less than a few minutes he had taken him through basic and advanced curses comparing the outcomes to the one currently plaguing them. Everything from ancient hereditary powers to new, un-accidental developments from either foul play or self-experimentation.

Who knew the native Sami from Norway had up to 24 different types of snow curses?

Absorbed in all this new vital information, Harry failed to notice the foggy look in Draco's eyes. The occasional stomach growl and biting of lips.

The next thing he knew there was loud thumps of books clattering on the floor and an unconscious Draco Malfoy.

Harry didn't really know what to do. Calling a teacher seemed logical, but instincts kicked it in instead and he rushed to Draco.

The boy was white as death and stone cold.  
Harry put his fingers under Draco's nose. Yes, he was breathing.

Draco had fainted…

Why had he fainted?

Harry called for help and Madam Pince—the librarian—appeared shortly.

"Oh dear!" She froze for a second. Her resting, mean composure cracked. Then she rushed over to Draco.

Before she could ask, Harry answered, "I don't know. I was just standing there and…"

The librarian was old and frail. Her face said one thing, but those old bones said another.  
There was no one around to help Harry carry Draco to the infirmary.

Clueless and impulsively, Harry did the water spell, aiming at Draco's face.

His eyelids snapped open, revealing a disoriented and groggy pair of silver eyes.  
The blond groaned.

"Malfoy? Can you get up?"

Draco groaned again and attempted to push his body up. In all honesty it didn't appear Malfoy himself knew what happened and was probably on the brink if passing out again. He was like a half asleep zombie, mindlessly following instruction.

Harry helped him up, putting an arm around him. Slowly, they started walking.

When they reached the hallway Harry found it to be mostly empty.  
Hermione Granger was walking head down, absorbed in a book. How the hell she knew where she was going, Harry would never know.  
"Mione! Lend me a hand here."

She looked up, all the emotions fast-forwarding on her face in seconds. Confusion. Shock. Realization.

By the time they finally reached the infirmary they were basically dragging a corpse.

Madam Pomfrey laid him on a bed. The split second after Harry told him what happened, they were being shooed out.

Not that Harry cared or would've stayed. It may sound cruel, but he got what he needed out of Draco for now. What he'd done was what any other bystander would do.  
Once a bully, always a bully.  
While Draco had proven to not be wholly evil, they weren't any closer to being friends now than they had been in first year.

Still, Harry had to stay on his good side. The information Draco was providing was the closest Harry was getting to solving the mystery.

"What happened to him exactly?" Hermione asked him on the way back to the library.  
One way Harry was getting on his good side was by retrieving the books Draco dropped.

"Like I told the healer, he just fainted. I didn't see it, just saw him lying there." Harry paused. "You're not worrying about him, are you?"

"I'm just a bit curious, is all. Don't get you panties in a bunch."

That was their last of their conversations about Draco Malfoy that day.

* * *

Was he depressed was their first question. To Draco it seemed far too direct. He didn't care how nice councilor Abney seemed, it was all just an act.

Draco thought about her question. Was he depressed?

 _No. No. No._ It was bad to think. Thinking confused him.

Instead, he didn't answer.  
Reassuring himself that everything would be okay, Draco let his thoughts drift to the long-melted sunflower decorations in Myrtle's bathroom.  
It's not like these teachers could keep him from his research much longer. Had it been Potter who'd fainted from not eating due to anxiety and then woken up to a panic attack induced by nightmares from freezing his parents…maybe then they would concern themselves.

Lucky for him, he was Draco Malfoy. The most hated student in all of Hogwarts. Just shake your head _no_ to all the stupid questions and the teachers will soon enough forget about the dumb fiasco.

The adults talked some more. The word _parents_ flitted into the conversation like the whistling sound of a bullet just before you got shot.

"I'm _fine."_ Draco protested groggily. "Just let me leave. I have to study."

"None of that, Mr. Malfoy. We must first understand what exactly happened," Slughorn said.

"I told you already. I was a bit distracted with all the late homework, so I happened to forget a few meals. Easy mistake, honestly. It won't happen again."

Slughorn looked at the clock, then at Draco. A couple more questions should get him through the whole _we care about all our students_ policy.  
"Care to explain your little episode you had with Madam Pomfrey?"

The councilor looked worn out herself. Regardless, she looked at the teen with encouraging eyes. Sickening.

They couldn't _prove_ he had a panic attack. "What episode?"

The Abney rested her hand on his arm. "It's okay, love. Lots of people get panic attacks. It's better to have a big support group to get you through it."

If he had any food in his stomach, Draco would've hurled.

"I didn't have a panic attack," Draco told them. "Can I go now?"

It only lasted for about half a minute anyway. First thing Draco did was run to the dreamless sleep potion and gone back to sleep.  
It was a risky move, but the thought of his emotions overtaking him and frost covering the walls in front of everybody was worse than the current consequences.

Malfoy's don't need councilors or pity.

They eventually got bored, fed him, and let him leave.

Apparently Potter had brought his books to him. Draco did a quick fingerprint spell to see any recent markings on the interior pages.  
Harry hadn't bothered to open them.

What a fool.  
All of Potter's proof had sat a page turn away. As if Draco would be caught dead studying history of magic any time before the exam.  
The sneaky Slytherin had switched the covers on all the books that gave any slight hint of his powers' origin.

Right now only one had a lead; _Rock Trolls and Norwegian Magic._

It didn't mention anything about Arendelle, but Draco had immediately recognized the beast who'd prophesied his bleak future. If he could find them, maybe they could lead him to the cure.  
He had not had much time to read it between Potter's interrogation, him fainting, and now interrogation number 2.

Now would be the time to do so, but Draco had forgotten how gossip spread worse than wildfire at Hogwarts.

Seamus and Dean waited for him just before the next turn of the hall, leading to the room of requirements.

"I heard you're throwing a pity party, eh Malfoy?" Seamus called.

Draco turned to go back the other way, but they hadn't finished their fun.

Seamus ran up to him and grabbed him by the arm. "Too bad we weren't invited to watch."  
With the strength Draco had now, it was all too easy for Finnigan when he threw him on the ground.

"What's your problem?" Draco tried to sound brave, but fear won over.  
No, he wasn't afraid of them, but afraid _for_ them. They didn't know they were playing with a ticking time bomb of ice.

"Could ask you the same thing. We heard Potter was forced to carry your sorry arse down to the infirmary. Think we're your servant, you filthy prick?"

Exposing his powers was bad, but freezing them was also tempting. Draco's eyes glowered and his lips twitched up into a malevolent smile, like a wolf momentarily hurt by its prey. Angered yet merrily cunning revenge.

"You couldn't pay me to hire such useless monkeys."

Seamus' foot connected with Draco's abdomen. He rolled over, but refused to cry out in pain.  
Next thing he knew, he was lifted up by the shirt collar and pinned against a wall.

"Watch who you talk to," Seamus hissed. His face was close enough for Draco to count every freckle.  
His hands felt cold. _Concentrate. You control it._

The wall behind him frosted around his fingertips, but neither Dean nor Seamus noticed.

"You don't deserve pity or help. Be our guest on starving yourself to death. Everyone knows it should be you who's in the ground and not our friends."

Pain exploded in his nose. Blood pooled down his face from Seamus' punch.

" _Hey!"_

"Neville! Come to join the party?"

"Let go of him!" Neville said, coming closer. He sure had gotten braver since the war.

Draco's head turned. Neville was in the lead with Potter, Weasley, and Granger coming up behind him.

"Let him go, Seamus," Potter said calmly. "Don't stoop to his level."

Draco was released, to Dean and Seamus' dismay. They got lucky. The young wizard was seconds away from turning them to icicles. What a shame.

Sticking their tongue out at the chosen one, they left.

What the hell was Potter up to? Who the hell did he think he was? A child?  
Draco covered his nose. "I don't need your help," he said, and walked off.

* * *

The stars shone like millions of shards from a shattered diamond, the moon being the biggest piece.  
They reminded Harry of the broken prophecy.

He and the elect members of the D.A had spent all day using different heat charms on the school. Harry knew it wouldn't do much to protect them, but it was all they had. Whatever was coming was beyond his comprehension of the dark arts, but not Draco's.

Harry should've let Dean and Seamus pound him senseless for all the thanks he got. Now Draco was ditching their plans.

Staring at the stars was nice and all, but when you've been staring at them for more than an hour, and they're just imitations from the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall, you and your friends would also start becoming impatient.

"He's not coming. Let's just go," Ron said, absentmindedly mixing the cold mashed potatoes with a chicken bone.

"Just wait a little longer," Hermione told him.

Ron rested his head on the table. "You said that ages ago."

They waited another couple more minutes in silence before Hermione broke it. "I didn't want to say anything." She looked at Harry before continuing. "But I think Malfoy might be in trouble."

Harry raised an eyebrow. She hesitated then explained. "I overheard the Professor McGonagall and Slughorn talking in the potions lab. Apparently Draco had a panic attack after he woke up, and Madam Pomfrey had found a note in his pocket that hinted at him having had many others."

She paused. Ron looked just as bored as before. Luna might've been listening, but none of them were ever certain. Harry and Neville exchanged a look of confusion. Should they feel sorry for Draco? Laugh? Not care?

All Harry felt right now was intrigue.

Hermione glared at Ron, but when that didn't get his attention, she kept talking. "McGonagall said they would force him to see a counselor. He's also hearing voices and they fear he's fallen into some severe depression."

Ron snorted and they all looked at him. "What? Whatever that jerks is getting, he deserves it."

"Ronald!"

"It's true. If that's all you had to say, I'll be off. You guys can feel sorry for him if you want, but I'm not that dense."

With that, the table was left in silence once again, now with one less member.

One by one, they each stood up until only Harry was the only one left.

These weren't just vacant chairs; this was what having no one care about you physically looked like.

Eventually Harry left his seat too.

* * *

Draco awoke suddenly around midnight.

Having spent all afternoon studying what he could on his powers, Draco finally had his answer; rock trolls.

T _hese woodland creatures possess many capabilities for curing numerous types of magical maladies. Rock trolls—while they may not look it—are most specialized in repelling and destroying both genetic, and newfound curses._

 _It is also important to note that rock trolls have a vast knowledge when dealing with ancient (at times almost unheard of) curses.  
Such was the case of Arendelle—_

Draco nearly hit the roof when he saw it. _Arendelle._ Five books later and there was finally a mention of the long forgotten name.

He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before continuing.  
 _—of Arendelle 1839_

No more mention of the name.

The word was written in blood-red ink, the same color as the small print footnote at the bottom of the page.

 _See back for map._

His fingers scrambled until he came across the map. That's all there was. A bloody map of Norway with a red dot in the center. No explanation. No a sentence. Not a word.

Draco had gone back to the library to get a more accurate map of the area and came back with an overly descriptive map of the country, only to find a single nameless dot on this map as well.  
When comparing it to muggle maps, the area was invisible.

A sole, nameless wizard population that didn't much care for visitors.

In hopes, Draco had looked at more books, but the name was never mentioned again. What did that writer expect? He pack up his bags, ditch school, and go travel 1,900km from England to Norway in hopes that a dot on a map had all his answers?

His eyes had fallen shut around 7pm with dreams of talking rocks and angry teachers.

Still deathly tired, Draco rolled over and groaned. Even in this sleepy state, he knew what he had to do. He had to go to Arendelle and find the rock trolls.

The ball was next Friday, a week away. They had moved the date after the commotion. He doubted anyone would notice his absence then if he made a small appearance, talked to Astoria and then were to suddenly slip away…

Draco grabbed the cup to the bedside table, late night thoughts and adrenaline fogging all else. The water froze solid and the cup shattered from expansion. His finger stung from papercut-sized wound and a single drop of blood dripped on the bedside table. All doubt left Draco's mind.

"Arendelle here I come."

* * *

 **A/N: Review = faster updates. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!**


	6. Chilled Legacy VI

**A/N: Early as promised!**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy VI**

The room felt strangely damp. A certain thickness filled the air making it hard for Draco to breathe.

Maybe the oxygen was so thin because of Slughorn. The man was using it all up with the questions.

It started with basic greetings, moving on to his grades, then invisibly into his mental state and personal life. Slughorn's voice was hollow and scripted. Draco wondered if all the teachers were given a script to memorize for the special kids.

Pulled out of class for this?

That wasn't even the worst part. No; they just so happened to have the councilor fetch him, and call Draco's name in front of the whole class.

It wasn't the first time this happened. Plenty of students had been called this semester, all having to deal with side effects form war trauma, but the fact that he had been summoned was mortifying.

In the students' (as well as the teachers') minds, Draco Malfoy was not allowed to feel pain. To have sympathy. He'd been a Death Eater; therefore, he feeling pain would be hypocritical. Of course, he being a student, and this being a school meant they were obliged to help if in doubt of his full sanity.

The glares had been enough to drive anyone mad. "Draco Malfoy?" The councilor had called.

All eyes had turned accusingly to him. It's not his fault the school was so damn persistent.

What part of 'I'm fine' was so hard to understand?

If Draco thought his classmates hated him before, it was time to prepare himself for some serious warm hugs and lollipops _. How dare you feel pain? Isn't it enough that we lost our families because of you? Now we have to hear you cry wolf._

"Do you have any hobbies? Anything you're good at?"

The way Slughorn said it made it sound like the man had his own answer to that question already.

Draco balled his fists. Yes, he was a bit messed up at the moment, but he had more talent in one finger than Slughorn possessed in his whole body. Not that that Potter lover would've believed him anyhow.

Quidditch was obvious, but Draco didn't say it. He pictured Slughorn's smug face at the end of the answer. 'Ah yes. Too bad you're not as great as potter. Then I might let you into the Slug Club.'

Draco was plenty great at Occlumacy, but that would just stereotype him even more as a dark wizard. He was proud of it, of course, but he needed to impress Slughorn with this answer. Maybe then he'd let him go back to class.

He thought back to the good old days. The first thing that came to his mind was his mother's enthusiasm for music. When she was young, she'd made Draco take piano classes. He'd mastered it pretty easily, but it was never something the boy ever bragged about in school.

Somehow piano wasn't what would impress fellow male Slytherins. However, Slughorn might think differently.

"I like music," Draco said, watching the teacher's eyebrows raise. "I can play piano."

He regretted the answer immediately. Slughorn's eyes had gone from wide to ravenous.

And that's how Draco ended up being dragged to the music room instead of going to potions. The teacher had insisted it was some sort of stupid therapeutic exercise, but Draco knew what was going on. Slughorn had all sorts of students in the Slug Club, ranging from powerful connections, to outstanding academic and athletic skills. The one thing he was missing was a music prodigy.

He hadn't even seen Draco play yet, but he was already being eyed like some last piece of meat.

Draco sat at the piano as Slughorn instructed. In all honesty, he could only remember a couple songs by memory. Wanting this to be over, he played the more advanced version of _London Bridge is Falling Down_ , not really needing to look at the keys. Instead, he stared at Slughorn's face. The man looked quite impressed, his lips pressed tightly together in a breathless joy.

Still, his foot tapped impatiently on the floor. There was something the man was unsatisfied with.

"Take your gloves off, you'll play better."

Draco's hands stopped, and his heart raced. "Sir I don't think—"

"How silly of me!" Slughorn said, thought struck. "Why, every good musician must also possess a dazzling voice. Sing, Draco."

Great. The worst case scenario coming to pass; being asked to sing. Yet, it might be the one thing that would rescue him. Slughorn might forget to tell him to remove his gloves.

Crimson read and with shaking hands, Draco began to play the song. He made up the lyrics, not remembering the original.

" _London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down._

 _London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady._

 _Build it with iron and steel, iron and steel, iron and steel._

 _Build it up with iron and steel, my fair lady._

Draco looked up at Slughorn, unsure of how he sounded. Singing was something he ever only did in the shower. He'd never actually sang in front of anyone. The man's eyes were bulging from their sockets.

He hoped this was a good thing.

" _Iron and steel will bend and bow, bend and bow, bend and bow._

 _Iron and steel will bend and bow, my fair lady._

 _Build it up with silver and gold, silver and gold, silver and gold._

 _Build it up with silver and gold, my fair lady._

 _Silver and gold will be stolen away, stolen away, stolen away._

 _Silver and gold will be stolen away, my fair lady."_

He stopped playing.

Silence.

If one could pass out from blushing, Draco would've.

Then, applause.

"Bravo Draco! Absolutely wonderful!" Slughorn's personal parade startled him. "I'd say, I've never heard a student with a voice quite like yours."

Draco had never been good at judging his own singing. For a moment, he suspected the man was pulling his leg, but then the teen slithered into Slughorn's thoughts.

— _possible? The kid is a prodigy! And exploit his talent I will. Raise the potions grade and he won't mind joining in a couple meetings with me. Sign him up for the ball's concert, and he'll sure thank me when he's famous.…_

"Professor?" Draco interrupted his train of thought before he hurled. "May I go now?

Reluctantly, Slughorn nodded.

 _Yes. Great idea. Put the kid with anxiety disorder on a stage. Kudos to the educational system for another job well done._

* * *

Draco showed up just when Harry was about to leave, looking so white he was turning yellow.

Hermione pursed her lips when he sat down, and Ron inched away, wrinkling his nose. Neville had already departed, and only Harry and Luna appeared happy he was here. Of course, Harry's enthusiasm was forced.

"You're late," Harry said.

"Slughorn held me up. Apparently I'm his new show pony."

Harry gave him a strange look, but didn't ask.

"What do you want to know?" Draco rushed, fiddling with his gloves. He hadn't given Ron or Hermione anything more than a glance since he sat down.

Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione beat him to it.

"Why are you helping us?" She gave Draco the death glare.

Malfoy jumped at her tone, but he quickly recovered, returning it.

"For all we know, you could be the heir. What was that thing about curses being hereditary? Yeah. Don't think I don't do my research."

Hermione paused. Harry must've after kicked her under the table.

Draco clenched his teeth. Harry took a deep breath, sensing a fight was about to break out.

Instead, Draco turned back to Harry calmly and stood up.

A living miracle at its finest.

"Wait! Malfoy!" Harry grabbed his arm, almost ripping off his glove. Draco's heart skipped several beats and quickly pulled away.

"I've got better thing to do. Plus, not sure if you've noticed, Granger, but helping the golden boy gets you bonus point with the teachers. Oh, and also _the school might not freeze_."

Hermine rolled her eyes and he said, "But hey, I never liked Hogwarts anyway."

Harry kicked Hermione again. She might be smart, but she wasn't nearly as informed or experienced in the dark arts as Draco. If he left, they were doomed

"Okay, fine. Just help Harry and I won't speak."

Draco sighed and sat back down, now completely ignoring the other members. He looked wordlessly at Harry and let the boy ask away.

"Heat charms?" Draco almost laughed.

"Yeah, didn't think so either."

The food appeared on the table. He was too nervous with the upcoming trip to leave. What if someone did notice? Maybe he could tell them he'd visited his parents. What if they called them? Then what?

He pushed the plate aside and everyone looked at him.

"What?"

"Malfoy, I'm not going to carry your body to the infirmary again. Eat."

Draco glared at Harry. He didn't like the way they were eying him.

"I'm sick," he protested.

"Sure you are."

If it would make the stares go away, then so be it. He picked up the fork, seeing the food for the first time. Pork. Gross.

He forced it down, the anxiety in his system protesting. If his body was hungry, he couldn't really tell, but giving it food seemed like a bad choice with all that was happening.

Luckily, the food stayed down.

Harry asked a couple more question. Hermione eventually joined in. She tried to hide it, but Draco could tell she was impressed.

They ran out of things to ask.  
He agreed to help them with more research on more potent heat charms—Draco told them something like that would require a high level of dark magic—the table grew quite.

He wasn't sure if to leave or stay. They weren't friends, but leaving in the middle of lunch seemed rude, as did staying with them. Even if it didn't he didn't have anywhere else to sit.

Luckily, they began talking again, this time about Quidditch, then about the ball.

Draco listened wordlessly, secretly wishing he could join in on the conversation. Talking to no one but Myrtle and Slughorn got lonely.

Neville came back.

Draco couldn't look at him.

Everything he'd done the past seven years to him—to all of them really—haunted him every night after the war. Maybe it wouldn't be like this had Crabbe, Goyle , Pansy, and Blaise prove to be true friends in the end.

But just like everything else in his life, they had been plastic.

Harry had real friends. Draco had known it from the beginning. They had a sort of shine about them. Their laughter was real as was their loyalty.

He got the feeling it was too late to say sorry.

"Malfoy?" Neville said.

Draco looked up.

"He's helping us with the mission," Hermione told him.

"Huh. Well, that's great I guess."

"Classes are starting," Draco said, standing up. "I'll see you later."

* * *

The more they talked, the more Harry realized how grateful he was to have Draco helping them. He could tell his friends felt the same.  
When the conversation ended, Harry noticed Draco's discomfort. He wanted to tell him it was okay for him to leave now, but when he looked at the Slytherin table he realized Draco's usual seat was already taken.

He glanced back at Draco. Maybe it wasn't this wasn't the first time.

They carried on as usual, Harry only realizing Draco was still sitting there when Neville pointed it out.

Maybe it wouldn't have hurt to include him a bit.

* * *

 _ **Two days later…**_

 _Who says I have to go against the prophecy anyway? I could do it. I could use my powers. Watch the ice spread through their blood vessels, veins, all the way into the heart. Their eyes become lifeless shadows, the cold drowning out all life_.

On their faces, their last scream forever plastered and echoing in my memories.

Draco could picture it now. Seamus' skin plagued with ice, like a fast spreading dragon pox from the bottom up.

"Glare any harder and you might set them on fire," Harry told him.

Fire. Good one.

Potions had just started, and already Draco felt himself aging away as he counted the minutes for it to be over. Usually, this class was bearable. Apparently having Slughorn hate him had actually been a blessing in disguise. Now, he dreaded the moment the man would come near his seat with the usual 'see me after class' whisper, and he'd be forced back into the music room for supposed therapeutic exercise.

If anyone—God forbid—found out he could sing, the news would spread like wildfire.

Draco had found the one thing he hated more than talking; singing.

Maybe if this fame had come a couple years back, he would've relished in it.

Of all the things that could describe the experience of working for Voldemort, silencing was one of them.

It was the first thing you caught on to. There was no instruction manual or rule book was required to understand that speaking in the Dark Lord's presence was nothing short of a mind field.

Say the wrong thing and you might just get to pick what's behind curtain A), B), or C); Death curse, Cruciatus curse, or some impossible mission that would result in the first or second.

Yes, Draco was safe now. Free to speak his mind, complain, smile, laugh, scream, cry breathe however loudly he wanted, but he just couldn't.

Irrational as it might be, he could feel Voldemort's soft death grip at his throat. Conceal. Don't feel. Don't let it go.

Hogwarts life did occasionally bring the fire of life back to the surface. Seamus had thrown a paper at his head just two minutes into the lesson. Draco unrolled it to find a—poorly drawn, but recognizable—doodle of a man behind prison bars—Lucius Malfoy.

The bullying was mellow enough, but having Potter and his two idiots plus Luna and Neville follow him around all day trying to pry information from his cold (literally), stubborn grip was a pain. He was lucky if he got to piss on his own.

Of course, they now knew all about his special meetings with the councilor and Slughorn. Harry and his drones even walked with him to most of them, Ron never failing to make snide comments on the way. Given his sealed lips, Draco failed at each protest to be left alone.

To his disgust, Slughorn and plenty of other teachers now thought Draco was friends with them. The staff must've has some lame discussion over tea and decided to sit Draco with them in every class. Another unwanted form of therapy added to the list.

"Alright class, today we will be learning how to make a very advanced potion; the Siren Educam."

As usual, Granger's eyes lit up. She knew the damn potion already.

Draco had of course heard of it. It was a complicated brew, but the real magic was in the incantation. He didn't know the details, but remembered reading about it somewhere. The potion, as Slughorn confirmed, was one used to lure sirens out of the water. It fell under the dark magic, and the Cantabo category.

 _Cantabo…Cantabo. The Latin translation is—shit!_

"Singing potion, as all of you know."

Draco's heart beat increased and his palms began to sweat inside his gloves. Slughorn looked around the room and Draco ducked under the table.

"What the—Malfoy what are you doing?"

"Shhhhhh, Granger."

Harry ducked under the table and eyed him strangely, but said nothing. Draco closed his eyes tightly, wishing his could truly be invisible.

"Where is Mr. Malfoy?" Slughorn finally asked.

"Under the table," Hermione said.

Withholding a punch to the girl's face, Draco came out. "Dropped something," he mumbled to the staring faces.

"Come to the front of the class."

His feet moved at the command without his consent. Harry gave him a puzzled look, but Draco didn't answer his unasked question.

Slughorn put his hand on Draco's shoulder. "For this potion to work, at the end you must sing this spell—"Slughorn reached in his robe for a rolled up parchment—"in your best singing voice."

"This," Slughorn continued. "Should be quite easy for Mr. Malfoy who, I came to learn, has a lovely talent for the arts of music."

The song was placed in Draco's numb hands. All eyes were on him, even as Slughorn continued to explain. "The brew I have here is what you'll be making before the spell. You'll only get to witness the glow the mixture gives off, but not the effects it has on the sirens. As I've explained, we'd have to pour it in the enchanted lake for that."

"Draco, your voice is powerful enough for the spell to have a visible reaction—remember the most effective potions are done with the voices of sirens—so just grab your wand there and read."

The paper shook in his hands, and his knees began to wobble. Draco could no longer hear his own heartbeat, the noise having been replaced by the whispers and giggle in the classroom. He could have fainted, but instead his stomach was doing backflips. A moment longer standing there and the young teen would hurl into the cauldron.

Draco Looked up, meeting Harry's eyes. One of the few in the classroom not lit up in gleeful enjoyment. The only others were Hermione and Luna who appeared genuinely curious. Ron's eyes were alert, sensing Draco was going to be sick, but lacked concern wilts Neville just looked bored.

He gulped before the vomit rose up in his throat. The students morphed into spectating Death Eaters, waiting for him to fail so that Voldemort (Slughorn) could have his fun with the boy.

The air in the room began to grow cold. Clasping a hand over his mouth, he ran out the door.

* * *

"Well, ehm, that potion does smell pretty bad," Slughorn said sheepishly after Draco bolted from the room.

Ron snickered and elbowed Harry.

When the lesson ended Harry didn't know where to begin to look for the young Slytherin. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was a start, but before he could even decide his foot caught on something squishy. Harry picked up a wet sheet of paper—the spell Draco was supposed to read.

His eyebrows furrowed. The floor was bone dry.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed this strange chapter. Please review! I'm starting to think no one is actually reading this lol.**


	7. Chilled Legacy VII

**A/N: I'M BACK AND I BROUGHT A LONG CHAPTER AND SLEEP DEPRIVATION WITH ME!  
Sorry for the delay. Homework...life...perfectionism when trying to edit.**

 **Hope you enjoy!  
-lauralydney**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy VII  
**

It didn't take long for the bathroom to freeze. How he'd got there was a blur. He remembered passing a group of girls on the way. One might've called his name, but Draco didn't stop to chat.

"This is my house you're puking in," Myrtle half laughed.

He could tell she was trying to make him feel better, but right now he only saw red. Screw you Slughorn. Screw you potter.  
The last one wasn't fair. Harry didn't know the nerves would lead him to return the food he'd forced him to eat, but screw that too. Screw everyone.

The voice spoke to him in the midst of the pain, giving him the same advice as last time, but he wouldn't succumb to the ice.  
It was a drug with a terrible side effect. He didn't care if it took the panic attack away this time. Draco would rather hurl his guts out and involuntarily frost the school than let it win.

He fell asleep at one point during the end of the ordeal. It was only for ten minutes, but when he awoke, it all had melted.  
The bottom of his robes were soaked from the flooded floor, and he was sure he smelled like puke.  
Even so, he didn't mind taking a longer nap in the mess had a pair of splashing footsteps not reached his ears.  
Someone knocked on the cubicle.

His blood ran cold.

"Mr. Malfoy," came McGonagall's voice. "Mr. Malfoy, open up."

Had she seen the ice while he was out? His hand was asleep from where he'd rested his head. Shakily, he reached for the lock and the door swung open.  
McGonagall's nose twitched at the smell. She stared down at him with warm, sad eyes. It was like for the first time she wasn't seeing Draco, but rather just the average, non-Death Eater student.  
Draco blinked, thinking he'd imagined the look, but it remained.  
Maybe McGonagall wasn't like the other teachers.

Her voice was calm. "Are you sick?" She lifted him up. "Where does it hurt?"

He shook his head, feeling a familiar pricking sensation at the corners of his eyes. "I'm not sick. I just…"

"You just what, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco wiped at his eyes, but he was sure McGonagall had already seen.

"I left. Slughorn…" his voice faltered. McGonagall didn't make him continue.

Instead, she looked down at his half soaked robes, tired eyes and said, "Go to the Prefects bathroom, get changed, then meet me at my office.  
Draco nodded, turning to walk away, jumping slightly at the soft rub on the shoulder from his teacher.

* * *

Today was not the day for experimenting. Draco settled for a quick shower, spelled his hair dry, and his clothes clean. He flinched upon seeing his reflection. Blond locks stuck out in several different places. Draco ran his hands through it, getting rid of the worst of the damage.

Astoria and Lovegood stopped him in the hall. Draco didn't know what was happening. No words were exchanged, but suddenly Astoria was hugging the life out of him while Luna watched the oxygen leave his body.

Luna smiled. "Hello, Draco."

" _Hey,"_ he gasped.

"Astoria, you're killing him."

She pulled away, blushing a bit. What the hell had gotten into her?  
"I saw you running. I tried to talk to you, but you didn't see. Then I asked Harry and—I'm sorry, I was just worried."

Oh.

She knew.

"I'm fine," he assured her.

Astoria frowned. "You didn't look fine!"  
Draco bit his tongue and let her ramble.  
"…completely avoiding me since last year."

The last line rung in his ears. "Avoiding you? Astoria why would I be avoiding _you_?"

She was quite for a minute.

"You don't have to like me, you know, just because I'm pureblood. There are other options."

" _Whoa, whoa,"_ Draco pulled her to the side of the hall. "What are you talking about?"

"Everyone is thinking it, even our parents. The only reason you'd hang out with someone two years younger than you would be because I'm the next best pureblood after Pansy."

It was true that the first thing he'd noticed of Astoria was her blood status, Draco thought. But that's the first thing he noticed in anyone. She could've been a half-blood now for all he cared. That might make his parents angrier than they were now, but at this point that sounded like a bonus.

Draco held back a laugh. "In that case I should be dating Lovegood. She's a pureblood. Maybe Brown? The Weasley girl? Honestly Astoria, you sound ridiculous. Where is all this coming from?"

She crossed her arms, eyes distant. "From you not telling me anything anymore. You used to tell me everything, remember? And when was the last time you even asked me to hang out with you?"

Attention. The girl wanted attention. Not only that, but Draco could tell she really had been worried sick. It wasn't the same look Pansy would give him when he'd been in trouble. Hers always held a double meaning—if she just tried hard enough to impress him with her fake sincerity, Draco would finally cave in and chose her to share his family's wealth with. Probably why he'd caught her snogging Blaise.  
Astoria wanted nothing in return, just him.

"The last time would be just now. The three Broom Sticks tomorrow?"

* * *

He was forced to tell McGonagall what Slughorn did. Never had he felt this childish. It felt like telling the preoccupied grandmother _what the bad man did_. Not to mention he had to explain that he hadn't actually been sick, just freaked out and hurled.  
She was furious.

It'd been a while since Draco had seen her lips press tighter than her bun.  
"What are you going to do to him?"

"That depends, Mr. Malfoy. Has Slughorn's _therapy_ helped you before today?"

Draco wanted badly for the man to be sacked, but there was no guarantee that next teacher would be any better. Sure, he wouldn't have to put up with singing lessons, but Draco had found himself liking them. Maybe not with Slughorn, but just the singing in in itself. Plus, he _did_ get a free pass on al potions assignments that came with new Slug Club invite. If Slughorn left, Draco was sure to fail.

"I liked them," he lied. "I just didn't want them going public."

She nodded, dismissing him. McGonagall had a keen sense off understanding. That was all she'd get out of Draco. Ever.

* * *

"I see you're spending quite a lot of time with Malfoy."

Harry wasn't sure if he was relieved or not to find that the Headmistress hadn't summoned him to talk about the mission. He had no valuable information to give her, but that look on her face—the way she'd said those words—sent shivers sown his spine.  
McGonagall was furious.

Who or what had brought out her inner lion, Harry did not know.  
He hoped it wasn't Draco—he needed him alive for the mission.

"I—uh…you could say that."

McGonagall's eyes scanned him. Harry shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "I asked him to help us with the curse," he explained. "You know... since he knows more about the dark arts."

Her eyes widened, she opened her mouth and then closed it again. Shaking her head and saying the first line more to herself, "I didn't call you to talk about this—I'm sure you're doing whatever you think is best. I need you to tell me anything you can about Draco."

It was Harry's turn to be confused. Seeing his expression, McGonagall continued.  
"He doesn't want to be helped, but it's our job. We thought Professor Slughorn was making a breakthrough, but I believe you were there yourself to witness the disaster?"

Harry nodded.

He'd tried to look for Draco afterword, running into Astoria and Luna. Apparently they'd seen him heading for the Slytherin dorms, but Harry never found him there. Maybe it was for the best. Going after him was more on impulse as it had been with Hermione in first year. There hadn't been anything in particular he'd planned to tell him, but Harry hadn't seen Draco that afraid since the day back at the Malfoy manor when being questioned about Harry's identity.  
Plus, Ron laughing behind Harry's shoulder probably wasn't going to make anyone feel less pathetic.

"This is, of course, not part of our deal…but if you learn anything that could help us reach him—"

"I haven't talked to him about any of that," Harry said, looking anywhere else but at her. He didn't feel comfortable talking about Draco's problems. "We only discuss the curse."

McGonagall looked at him skeptically. "You know as well as I do that a person's actions speak louder than words. I can't follow Draco around everywhere to see what he does. I'm asking you to listen with your eyes while you're with him."

Desperately wanting to end the conversation, "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

"Malfoy?"

Harry heard a sigh come from the left bookcase. Through it, behind a ginormous pile of books stacked on a small work table, he found him.

Draco's head surfaced "What?"

His eyes were rimmed with black circles, but he looked no whiter than usual. There was a bit of dried up coffee on his lips. Whether he'd eaten or not, Harry was sure he was on the verge of shutting off any moment.

Harry came around to the other side of the stack.

"Hi."

Draco waited.

"I was wondering if you could show us the spells now—the dark heat charms."

Draco looked at the opened book in front of him then at half-finished coffee cleverly hid behind a smaller pile of books. Harry couldn't help but think how Draco reminded him of the coffee. He was half there, half lost.  
His voice tired, "Uh, sure. The history of magic exam is tomorrow…but I guess I could use a break."

Harry had forgotten he and Ron had a free homework pass during their stay. Guilt kicked in.

"I could help you study later after the break if you'd like."

He raised an eyebrow. "You really don't need to do that. As I told Granger, I'm doing this out of self-interest."

Harry shrugged. "I would be too. The faster you study, the more you can help."

Draco thought about that. "I don't remember you having much brain capacity. If you want to help, just do what you're good at and kiss ass to get me out of this test."

"Would you rather have Hermione help you?"

"I'd rather none of you help me. Now, do you want to have this argument, or call up your friends so we can get this over with?"

Harry rolled his eyes. At least he was acting more or less like himself again. Still, there was no menace or harshness in his words, not towards Harry at least. It was like kindness repulsed him. He tested the theory, moving forward to help him pack the books  
"Is there anything we'll need?"

Draco packed faster, but didn't push the gesture away."Floo powder."

"Floo powder?"

"It's not just a heat charm. It will require ingredients. The type you could say…are forbidden at Hogwarts."

"Where would we be going?"

" _I_ would be going to my home to retrieve them."

"Why can't I come?"

Draco closed his bag looking at Harry like he was an idiot.  
Harry realized why. The conversation had been going so naturally—the type he'd have with Ron or Hermione when planning one of those perfect schemes. He'd forgotten about him being a Malfoy who lived in the Malfoy Manor with two ex-death eaters and a dungeon where they'd kept both his friends. Bad memories plus bad people didn't equal a good visit.

"Right, never mind. Let's go find some."

* * *

McGonagall had found Draco seconds before leaving for home.

"You're under disciplinary watch," she had said. Maybe he would've run away. To be honest, Draco wasn't sure. That didn't matter anymore.  
The only real problem now was the team of idiots was forced to tag along. Of course, Potter had offered to make sure that didn't happen, but just the same, Weasley and Granger came in case _Malfoy tried to pull something._

The first thing he did was run to his dresser, hiding Stormberg behind it before Potter had a chance to fall face first on Draco's bedroom floor.  
He'd use a charm to keep the area around the dresser cold before leaving for school. His room used to be a constant refrigerator with his presence. It felt almost normal again. Warm and welcoming.

"You have a fireplace here in your room?" Harry said, noticing the typical wizard teen decorations—Quidditch posters, figurines and old toys.

Draco shushed him. "Yes, Potter. House big, parents' ears bigger."

Hermione toppled out next, followed by Ron.

Her eyes took in the surroundings, lingering a second longer on the massive bookshelf.  
"Where do we need to go?"

"Attic, but its best if you stay here and just let me bring the ingredients."

"But McGonagall said—"

"The professor isn't here, Granger. The less noise made, the less chance we'll get caught. If they find only me, I could probably make something up."

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron doubtfully.  
They nodded

"Good," Draco said. "Don't. Touch. Anything."

Draco left.  
Harry and Hermione sat on the bed. Ron moved around the room. It was enormous. Possibly as big as the entire bottom floor of the Dursley's home. Slightly Oval shaped—it still had corners—with books and old toys lining the shelves.

There were two large window sills with silky gray cushioned seats. While the rest of the house was a dreary purple, Draco's room was a plain white with some green here and there on the Slytherin posters and, and light blue bedsheets.

Hermione threw a pillow at Ron as he reached for a book. "Ronald, no touching."

Ron picked it up and chuckled. "Afraid we'll find poor emo boy's diary or something?"

"Worse. For all we know those books scream, or—I don't know—attack when opened. Knowing your luck, you'll set off an alarm."

"She's right," Harry said.

"Fine." Ron walked over to the dresser, leaning over to peek at the window behind it.

"Did it just suddenly get cold here?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, fiddling with the snake figurine at the bedside table.

"N—"

A loud scream bounced around the walls.

Startled, Harry dropped the figurine.  
It shattered.

The noise was followed by more yelling.

"What the hell?" Harry said, putting a hand on his chest.

"I think they found him."

Hermione put an ear to the door.  
They stood like statues for a whole minute. "No," she said.

"Then what?"

"Lucius and Narcissca are arguing, but I think we're safe."

Harry picked up the figurine and spelled it back together.

"So much for not touching anything," Ron said.  
He grabbed a couple of books on Quidditch and sat on the bed. Boredom won over and Harry and Hermione eventually caved in and had a look around Draco's room too.  
Hermione found a stack of Draco's grades all the way from first year to fifth. She gaped at them. They were almost as good as hers. None failed to notice the missing year.

"Guys, look at this," Harry said, holding up a stack of paper.

They were dusty—Harry guessed—from sitting on the shelf for so long.

"Is this sheet music?"

It went on like that for an hour—they would pretend it was quiet and peaceful whilst the world outside these four walls erupted in shouts, shattered objects, insults, and eventually sobbing.

"This is excruciatingly uncomfortable. Let's just leave," Ron said.

"McGonagall will kill us if we leave without him."

Ron ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "It's been more than an hour, what do _you_ suppose we do?"

Harry sighed. "Go find him I suppose."

Something else—possibly a plate—shattered outside.

"Out there?" Hermione hissed. "Are you mad?"

"Yup."

* * *

The basket worked as an endless pit to carry everything Draco needed—dragon lung, a pint of unicorn blood, live Fire Crabs, a jar of Nundu breath, five Phoenix eyes, Streeler spikes, and Occamy eggs.  
He added an extra item—old record book of his family lineage. If the curse was hereditary, he'd never find that treasure in the school library.

The ingredients put together were already making him sick from the toxic fumes. The dust and cobwebs didn't help. No one had been up here in years. Draco still remembered when his father would spend the afternoons growing the collection, experimenting, or just plain admiring it. When Voldemort returned there hadn't been much time for hobbies, not to mention some items had _mysteriously_ disappeared after the Death Eaters' stay.  
The room felt like a hot, steaming towel upon Draco's face. The different aromas and temperature emitted by the toxins were no longer concealed by charms. He breathed through his mouth, feeling his lung fill with dust.

He placed the last of the eggs in the basket, and gladly headed for the door. Even from here Draco could hear the shouts. After a minute of thought, he decided it was best not to mention anything. If he pretended nothing was amiss, they had no reason to ask.  
Being here felt wrong.

That day Draco had assured himself he didn't need his parents. They had—after all—planned to send him away. Everything was numb then, and it was still partially numb now. Yet, a part of him—one growing more evident with the sobs coming from downstairs—desperately wanted them back.  
He wanted to run downstairs and see their faces again—the ones that weren't afraid of him. Even if it was all a lie, even if his powers terrified them, Draco wanted his parents. They were so close, yet miles away.

Hand on the door, he gave the room one last look. Boxes and crates were stacked as walls, covering the old wood paneling. He moved cautiously. One wrong move and everything tumbled down. It was then that he saw it—a gray stone wall.  
The wood paneling stopped in a door sized space partially hidden by more crates.

Draco knew it was stupid. The most basic rule of magic—don't know, don't touch.  
But he had to touch.

Setting the basket down, he walked up to it, sliding a couple boxes aside. Slowly, he traced a hand over it. Nothing happened.  
He turned to walk away, but tripped. Something grabbed his leg. _The wall_ grabbed his leg. _The wall was growing vines._ Cold, snake-like vines cutting the blood flow from his legs _._ They moved fast, up his thigh and around his torso, thorns ripping his clothing and drawing blood.

 _Why did I touch?_  
Draco cried out, pulling and tugging to no avail. The vines lifted him into the air like the arm of a living tree, pulling him towards the now open wall. A cavern, dark and dame attempting to swallow him whole.

He took off a glove just as the vines wrapped around his arms. It reached his hand. He griped it tightly, instantly freezing the plant. It crumbled away and he fell to the ground.

Shakily, he stood up. His robes were shredded, with open gashes on all sides. Not wasting time to inspect, he grabbed the basket and ran.

* * *

The Manor was just as Harry remembered it—marble floor and dreary purple walls lined with paintings.  
They tiptoed up the stone steps into a long hall filled with more paintings, all abstract and dull, with the exception of a single, window sized one of Draco Malfoy in the center of the hall.  
It didn't look like it belonged there. The background clashed horribly with the skin tones and the robes almost disappeared amongst the black and white abstract background.

"Who are _you?"_ asked the baby-faced kid.

This Draco was much younger than the one Harry had met at the robe shop. Possibly around six or seven. Yet, that wasn't what was different. His eyes were softer. Untainted.

"Nobody," Harry answered. He dreaded running into any portraits. With ease they could alarm the entire household of their whereabouts within minutes.

The kid frowned, unconvinced. "I should tell mum and dad there's a stranger in the house then?"  
It began to move away.

"Stop!" Hermione said. "We were just looking for Malfoy—you. The older you."

The painting paused, halfway out the frame. "Oh," he said, face softening. "Are you my friends?"

"Uh…Sure," Hermione said, stepping on Ron's foot before he could protest. "Where is Draco?"

"I'm not allowed any friends that aren't pureblood," the painting said, downcast. "I never have many people to play with. You're all pureblood?"

Hermione's lip twitched, but she didn't look angry at kid Draco. "I'm not pureblood."

Harry stepped on her foot.

There was silence. Harry waited for the painting to warn the others, but it stayed there. "You seem nice though."

Ron and Harry gaped at it.

"I'm upstairs in the attic."

"Where are the stairs?"

"Behind the red painting. Don't tell the other paintings I'm here. I don't want to go back to the family portrait."

"Why not?"

"Mum and dad are fighting again."

* * *

" _What are you doing here?"_

Harry only shook his head, speechless. Draco had burst out the attic door, slamming right into Harry, knocking himself backwards.  
"What happened to you?  
From his shoulders all the way down to his feet, Draco was covered in thin, finger-sized gashes peeking out from countless spots of torn fabric on his shredded robes. His skin was turning read, creeping up from his neck to his face.  
The wounds were slowly soaking into the robes, others dripping down Draco's skin. "What, did you hug a cactus?"

Draco shushed him. "Yes Potter, I hugged a bloody cactus. Are you mad? If they catch you here they'll—"

Footsteps approached the group, blocking the way back to Draco's room. They were slow, but audible.

Harry saw Draco's face turn a couple shades lighter. He began to run for the other end of the hall. Draco stepped in front of him. "Unless you want a bunch of paintings yelling 'blood –traitor' or 'intruder', don't."

Malfoy thought for a second, his eyes on the left door. "Afraid of heights?"

Harry shook his head, knowing he'd regret it—whatever it was.

Draco pushed them inside the room—a bathroom bigger than Harry's room, complete with purple silk curtains, marble bathtub and a glistening crystal shower. In the back was a glass door leading to a balcony.  
He handed Harry the basket and climbed atop the railing and jumped.

Hermione screamed.  
If Harry was ever needed proof that Draco had lost his shit, this was it. However dying at the hands of Lucius Malfoy made the window look a lot more tempting at the moment.  
Following Draco's footsteps he looked down to find him on the second floor balcony, already opening the window to his room.  
Harry took a deep breath.

 _If he did it, so can I, right?_

He jumped, his stomach leaving his body, too frozen to scream or react. In a split second the ground was gone, then it was back, and then gone again as he lost his balance, almost toppling off the second floor. Malfoy grabbed his neck collar.

Just as quickly, he retrieved the hand after Harry regained his ground. It was, Harry noticed, a harsh movement. Like pulling away after touching a burning cauldron.

Once they were all inside the room, Harry set the basket down and got the floo powder.  
"Harry," Hermione said cautiously. "Malfoy doesn't look too good."

And he didn't. The red had spread to his face and his body was beginning to swell. He was breathing heavily, and Harry could tell not much air was reaching his lungs.

By the time they reached Hogwarts infirmary, he was unconscious and had begun to turn blue. Flakes of snow were floating in the frosted room.

The first thing he felt upon opening his eyes was a hard, acidic flavor going down his throat. Draco coughed, feeling like he'd swallowed solid vomit.

* * *

Someone sighed and a pair of arms wrapped around him.  
The smell of chocolate scented shampoo penetrated his nose and his vision focused on the wavy brown locks of Astoria Greengrass.  
His throat felt thin and constricted, like breathing through a straw.

When she had gotten here or what happened exactly, he didn't know. The lighting was too bright and it smelled like vomit.  
Madam Pomfrey's clinic.  
She must've seen them carry him in here. When had he lost consciousness? Draco wished he was still out. The wounds still burned, even more now with her crushing grip, but—weakly—Draco hugged her back.

"You saved him, Harry!"

Sweat was dripping down his face, but the room was cold. _Too cold._  
A snowflake drifted by his face just as Astoria pulled away. Draco felt his soul leave his body.

He gripped the bedsheets tightly. "I-I can explain."

"You can do that later, Mr. Malfoy," Mrs. Pomfrey said dismissively. "Right now you need to rest."

Draco looked at her, the excuse still on his tongue. "But what about—"

"You can help us work on the charms later," Harry told him, half smiling. His eyes scanned Draco. "You almost died today. I had to shove a bezoar down your throat."

Ron made a distasteful noise with his lips. "Not fun, is it?"

"Good thing we got here when we did too," Hermione added. "It started snowing just minutes before—" she stuck out a hand, letting a single snowflake land atop her palm—"see?"

Then it dawned on him—they didn't know.

Draco looked from one person to another like a dog watching a tennis match, except the joy was replaced with horror. Minutes before? That wasn't possible!

"Oh, and Draco," Harry said, turning back just at the end of the door. His face was as uncomfortable as it always was when he addressed him politely, yet it didn't looked forced this time, and the disgust was gone. "Thank you."

* * *

Slughorn let them borrow the potions classroom during break. Draco felt shaky, partially from the after effects of his ordeal, but it was mostly the memories of the room.  
The wounds had closed, but his skin still felt itchy. He fidgeted, brushing his legs up against each other while crushing the Occamy eggs.

"Pour in the unicorn blood," he told Hermione, wiping sweat from his brow. " _Slowly_."

"What can I do?" Harry asked. They'd been working on it for half this one for an hour now. Draco could tell Harry was waiting for the moment he's be called into action, staring at Draco and Hermione's working hands intently.

"You could hold Hermione's hair back from the flames coming up next."

" _I'll_ do that," Ron said, gently brushing back her brown locks. Hermione's smiled with her eyes under the surgical mask. Draco swallowed vomit.

"Step back," Draco cautioned after she finished. He waved his wand over the potion. Lightning-like shocks hit the gooey substance, and a long stream of fire flowed out like lava, spilling on the table.

Draco jumped backwards. It was the thickest one yet. He coughed violently, watching the flames dissolve into sparks, floating like bubbles up to the ceiling where they disappeared completely.

A blanket of heat wrapped around him. The students outside the room would soon feel it too.

"I think this is good for today," he chocked. "We can do the remaining ones tomorrow. Good work."

"I didn't even touch anything."

"As it should be, Potter."

"I still don't think this will be enough for the nighttime snow. Isn't there something else we can do?" Granger asked

Draco looked anywhere but at her. Luckily his burning lungs made anything that came out of his mouth unreadable. "Heat charms are our best option."

"Option?" Ron asked. "There are others?"

A finger of fire burned in his throat. "Can't. Breathe."

He ran out and they followed.

 _I need the cold._

Letting the semi-breathable air fill him, Draco continued coughing violently . Groups of students passed them in the halls, eyeing them oddly. Hermione grabbed him a rag soaked in cold water. He let it drench his face. It could've been the after effects of the poison. Draco was sure that's what they thought at least.  
To him it felt more internal. The cold begging to trap him back in the cage.

"Thanks."

Granger nodded, a bit taken aback by the simple word.  
 _Yes, Granger, I have the ability to say 'thank you'_.  
Throughout their work together, Draco had done nothing but be extra kind to her—to all of them—for reasons he himself did not understand. For the first time he noticed the urge to degrade the muggle-born had gone. It was involuntary. Like someone had reprogrammed his mind.  
Like Voldemort had reprogrammed his mind.

Draco shook the thought away for now. He wouldn't let the cold win. He couldn't. The only other curse powerful enough to protect the school was one he couldn't bring himself to do.  
The cold stone floor. His singed hair and body just beyond the closed door. Maybe it had been in his head that day, but Crabbe's screams echoed in his ears for hours after.

"There is one curse that might work," he told them. Hope flared in their eyes. Draco slammed his eyes shut and shook his head. "But there's no way I'll do it."

The hope vanished as quickly as it came. Ron frowned. "Why not?!"

He took in a lung full of air and met Ron's glare, fully aware of what he thought. Maybe Harry's friends were the only ones who could see through the disguise—Draco wasn't really helping them. Of course, Harry too knew Draco wanted something out of it, but the others could tell it was more than that. Even though the rest wasn't clear, they knew held a secret.  
While this was true, even Ron—the most skeptical of all—couldn't deny the sincerity and pain in Draco's voice now. "Because it killed my friend."

They were silent for a moment, understanding dawning on Harry and Ron. They'd witnessed it too. They'd seen Draco come close to the same fate.

"Malfoy, it could save the school."

"I bloody fricking well know that, Potter. I'm sure one of you could pull off the spell."

"We didn't even know which spell it was. You can at least guide us, right?"

"I have to study," Draco said, beginning to walk away. Once again for what felt like the millionth time this week, Harry grabbed his arm, sliding down and nearly removing his glove.

"Stop doin—"

"Professor McGonagall. I can talk to her and have you exonerated from all your classes too—at least for this month."

Draco's feet froze.

"Including exoneration from all the previous assignments," Hermione added, nodding at Harry, then looking back at Draco. Her eyes were intense. Desperate.  
Ron put a hand on her shoulder, the same stare in his eyes.

Even if he wanted to, Draco couldn't refuse. With the way things were going, there was no way he'd pass this semester with the previous grades. He'd have to score perfect on every assignment and test from this point till December.  
Draco bit his lip, at least pretending to think about it.

The room of requirements seemed like the perfect place to work on the hex, but that was going a bit too far down memory lane. Boxes toppling. Him and Goyel attempting to climb to the top. Fire and smoke caressing their clothes and burning their lungs. Their surroundings blurred, as though someone had peppered their eyes. Tear of pain rolling down their cheeks….

"Meet me by the lake after class tomorrow."

* * *

 **A/N: Wow this chapter was long. Well...for this fic anyway. It felt sort o random...a bit out of place, so I have no idea what you people thought of it lmao.  
** **PLEASE REVIEW. All types of criticism are welcome :).**

 **Hint: more interaction between Draco and the trio in the next chapter  
Review= faster updates**

 **xoxo**

 **-lauralydney**


	8. Chilled Legacy VIII

**A/N: I'M SORRY FOR THE WAIT. This _was_ going to be a 6k word chapter, but I ended up writing 7k...so I split them in 2. There's a good chance I'll update tomorrow too since I just have to edit it. **  
**IK I promised more interaction between them in this chap, but since I split it...it's actually next chapter...hehe**  
 **UM ANYWAY: hope you enjoy !**

 **P.S: Thank you for the reviews. They give me motivation and life 3**

 **-lauralydney**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy VIII**

The room was warm and the smell of alcohol was potent inside the pub. Unlike Draco's attic, the Three Broomsticks felt like a cozy blanket and the aroma—however strong it might be—left a familiar, welcoming taste on his tongue.

Today had felt different. For the first time he noticed the shift in routine; breakfast in the Great Hall with Potter and his friends instead of with Myrtle in that filthy bathroom. Then he'd spend the resto of the day teaching them all he could on heat charms and fire spells.

He'd run out of any crucial information to feed them, but all were pretty excited about the fire curse. Draco went over the basics of the spell by the lake every afternoon.

So far none of them had been able to pull it off, but the topic was interesting enough to keep Draco in their morning conversation for at least ten solid minutes. Draco would then listen to them talk about random subjects—Quidditch, Granger's cat, the time they crashed a car into a tree, the time they broke into Gringotts and rode on a Dragon, how many ice cubes Weasley could fit in his mouth.

He would pretend to concentrate on eating—as exciting as that sounded—and fake legal deafness, having to bite down on his tongue or cough into his sleeve whenever he felt himself about to laugh. Luna quickly caught on to it and winked at him during one of his fits. It should've been obvious that no one smiles in the middle of a coughing fit. Harry did too, but upon seeing the frigid Draco losing it, all he did was laugh harder.

Just as quickly as the laughs came, they faded when he realized he never was part of the conversation. While it was nice having some place to sit, to pretend to be part of something, loneliness wasn't just a person he could hide from. No one ever told him to leave, but it wasn't an open invitation either. The minute he became useless the company would cease. Still, the brief experience of false friendship was better than breakfast with the dead.

Astoria was whole different story.  
Right after training he'd rush down to Hogsmead to be with her. They'd met alone together for the first time in ages. To Draco's surprise, she didn't push the subject of the day at potions class. Instead they got to talking about anything and everything. Slowly, and day by day, he came out of his shell when he was around her. It began to feel like old times—the old Draco and the old Astoria.

He couldn't recall the exact moment he'd pushed her away. Back in the beginning of summer, that was the last thing he would've thought to do. Then again, the ice hadn't been that strong. Just bits of frost here and there from holding something for too long, or the occasional snowflake when his hands made rash movements.  
No wizard would think twice about it. Out of control magic was common when emotions clouded judgement, and _that_ was a daily shadow after the war. He hadn't really gotten to know Astoria all that well before Voldemort's return.

Sometimes they talked when he was around Daphne in fifth year, and there were a couple group hangouts and parties she had either been invited to or had been forced to attend on accounts of her sister's shitty babysitting skills. Everyone knew she had a crush on him. Draco had thought it was cute then. Now he deemed it impossible.  
Someone finding anything attractive in that cold hearted monster that was his old self was unfathomable. But it wasn't until right after the war that they'd really gotten close. Though, it wasn't a night either wished to remember.

Draco was glad she hadn't inquired about anything too personal, but at the same time he began to question the reason. Was it possible she'd seen something that day? It wasn't completely irrational to think that Astoria had followed after him and seen…everything.  
But there was nothing off about her.

Maybe he would've started to panic had today not been the day she finally inquired.

"So…" she said, scooting closer to him.

"So…" Draco followed her movements until their shoulders were touching.

She leaned in to kiss his cheek. The butterbeer froze in his hand. She pulled away, smiling. Draco pretended to drink the solid block of ice.

"Are you ready to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

She gave him _the look._ Astoria's famous _I'm done joking_ look. There wasn't really one single mood that was predominant in Astoria. Maybe that was why she'd been sorted into Slytherin—adaptability. She could be serious, mad, playful, sensitive, wise, girly, or tough. It all came natural to her.

Draco for the most part had just held on to a single mood or—in his case—façade; emptiness. For someone like him to be around someone as unique as her was like a grey pencil sketch lying next to a water color masterpiece, some aspects of it dripping into its dreary life.  
For Draco she'd always been a kind of Anchor. The one person unafraid to pull him off his high horse and back to reality. Her chameleon-like self, compared to his constant predictability, made her the fire to his ice.  
And right now that fire was about to burn him.

Draco laughed nervously. "Oh you mean _that_."

She waited.

"What do you want to know?"

 _What did you see?_

Astoria thought for a second, sipping her drink. "I just…I've seen you so down. I wish you would tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking I've never seen such pretty brown eyes."

Astoria punched his shoulder. "I'm serious."

Draco's eyes scanned her. Her answer was sincere enough. There didn't appear to be any hidden female Morse Code that needed cracking. Though, he wasn't sure her knowing and insinuating that he give explanations was any better than this.  
Her concerned stare gnawed at him.  
She didn't know about his powers. Astoria was asking about something far worse. Words that wouldn't leave his mouth. He could already sense the sadness of rejection that would trail behind her if he didn't open up.

Maybe he could honestly skip the interrogation.

"Astoria, I just don't want you to see me as weak. Does that make sense?"

Silence.

"Okay. Okay. It doesn't then. Noted." Draco sighed. "I've just had a rough year."

She put a hand on his cheek. "I know. That's why I'm asking. I want it to be less rough. If you'd just talk to me…"

And Draco did. He talked and at the same time didn't. Truths, half-truths, and lies. Maybe Astoria didn't know, but behind those sweet eyes, Draco suspected she knew something was missing. Even after going into the details of his parents' arguments, the guilt from all the deaths and pain, the loneliness, the fear of failing the year, she still didn't look satisfied.  
She reflected what he felt, and maybe the way he too looked.

It was mutual. They both wanted love—to know and to be known, but the ice was something no one could ever know.

Still, a partial weight visibly lifted off of her.

"Loneliness?" she asked.

For someone so completely blind to his flaws, it was almost impossible to explain that no one except her really cared much for his company.

"But you're the biggest dork ever! Aren't you friends with Potter and them?"

Draco took a sip of his butterbeer.  
They'd been here for hours and most of it had already melted. No. He wasn't friends with Potter. Draco was beginning to see why some called them the Golden Trio—they had a sort of shine about them. Harry, Hermione, even Ron, they were the friends everyone wanted to have. Maybe the friends a lot of people _did_ have.  
He wished this stupid mission would end before their glow made him sink to his knees and beg them to let him take part.

"Not exactly."

* * *

They left for a stroll around Hogsmead. Astoria said they should look for Luna, but Draco grabbed her arm. He'd already told her a million times why he couldn't be around her.

"Don't be silly! Luna doesn't mind having you around."

He rolled his eyes. "Alright, let's take it from the beginning: the _'_ people'I was working with kidnapped her, locked her in a dungeon—my dungeon—and took her friends along with her while I watched them rot. I'm sure she loves my company."

"Funny," Astoria held back a smile. "I believe she mentioned you used to sneak them extra rations of food and water, or am I mistaken?"

"Oh sure, that makes everything okay _._ _Draco Malfoy, hero in training_."

"Come on, Dray, didn't you say you wanted friends?"

"Yes, but _Loony?_ "

"Says the guy with the butterbeer stash on his face."

Truth was Luna didn't seem that bad. For one, she was friends with Astoria, so she obviously had good taste. Ever since she started having classes with him due to her advance curriculum, she'd begun sitting next to Draco in almost every lesson. He'd caught sight of her doodles—if you could call them that—and Draco had to admit he was impressed.  
From the beginning he had known Luna would welcome him with open arms into some bizarre friendship, but there was no way Draco would let her.

The key had been in his hands. All it took was one turn and a zap, and Lovegood would've been safely home. The same went for all the other prisoners.  
But he'd been too weak. More than half of those locked up never made it out.  
Extra food rations didn't cut it.

He thought back to their first conversation this year: ' _Beat it Loony, unless you want to see just how much I've changed.'_

All the attempts were in vain because now she was buying him and Astoria ice cream

His feet didn't move him away from the group this time. His mind was guilty—he didn't deserve her kindness—but his heart wanted it.

* * *

They walked back to the school, Draco and Astoria hand in hand with Luna chatting airily next to Draco about the upcoming ball.

"I sure do hope there's good music," she was saying.

"Could you imagine them having the Weird Sisters again?"

"I don't much like there music. It's a bit too loud. Blodwyn Bludd would be a better choice."

"Who?"

Astoria laughed, squeezing his hand. "Same thing I said."

Draco noticed the gesture, realizing he was actually holding her hand. There had been no hesitation, he'd just taken it. It was like Astoria was immune to his ice. Whenever he was around her, he never felt on the verge of freezing the continent.  
She calmed his powers to inexistence.

The conversation went on, Draco only nodding when Luna made her peculiar suggestions. With her it was better to just play along rather than ask too many questions. He might catch the crazy.

He let go of Astoria's hand just before entering the castle, taking in the last warm rays of sun. She gave him a strange look, but he didn't give her a reason. She would've protested.  
Draco couldn't allow her or Luna to be looked down upon because they'd chosen to be nice to him. The looks people gave him were vile and penetrating. Everyone was starting to look at Astoria that way too whenever she'd hug him, hold his hand, or talk with him in the hallway. It wasn't fair of him to let it continue.  
Another problem with the stares was their counter effect on her. Even she couldn't calm him when a room fool of sharks eyed him like a bloodied corpse. Accidentally freezing her wasn't an option.

"I'll see you two later," Draco said and walked off.

* * *

Harry blinked a couple times, but the image was still there. Malfoy and Astoria were walking out of Honeydukes, Luna following closely beside the blond. The two were laughing.  
 _Draco_ was laughing.  
Draco was laughing _with Luna_.  
It wasn't that high pitched cackle he would do when tormenting him and his friends. It wasn't the involuntary muffle coughing he would do in the Great hall either.  
This one was melodic, genuine; the smile staying on his face after the fit had ended.

He, Ron, and Neville hurried back to the castle. They'd just barely managed to escape from Hermione's strict training session by the lake. She didn't seem to think that Draco's tutoring on the Fiendfyre was enough, and insisted on continuing hours after the Slytherin called it quits.

There was no way Harry could let Draco know, he'd kill them It was the first thing he'd told the group when agreeing to train them— _don't play with the fire while I'm away, got it, Potter?  
_ His two friends thought it was a ridiculous request.

"Who the bloody hell does he think he is?" Ron had said. "Who were the ones to train an entire army? We can handle a little heat."

Harry didn't doubt they could. After all, they had been the ones to save Draco from the Fiendfyre anyway, but he wasn't about to tell him that and risk him ditching the training sessions all together. To Harry it seemed like that was exactly what Ron wanted. Hermione didn't have a problem with it at first, but then Ron started filling her head with nonsense.  
 _Bet he thinks we can't do it without him. Git thinks we're not smart enough._

It hadn't taken much. Hermione had never been fond of the idea of Draco knowing more than her on the Dark Arts—or anything really. Ron's comment on his grades being nearly as good as hers back at the Manor hadn't exactly left a smile on her face either.  
Now it was _challenge accepted_ time.  
Harry thought the idea was too reckless, but it was two against one. If it meant getting them to stop bickering, then so be it.

Ron probably thought outdoing Draco had been a good idea at the moment, but Hermione's training sessions and studies on the single spell none of the could even muster. The amount of concentration it took left them out of breath and with a serious headache. Sadly, this only made Hermione more determined and slightly more bonkers.

It was dinnertime, also known as there last session. They trudged back towards the lake, Harry already feeling a headache coming on.  
Hermione stood by the water, face contorting with malice when she spotted them.  
"You're late."

Harry sighed. "Not late enough."

They got to trying.  
Everything was as unsuccessful as ever. Harry couldn't even get sparks to ignite. Neville was just as bad. Meanwhile Ron's wand was shooting small bursts of bubbles.

Then it happened. Hermione, who'd been brutally concentrating in the corner, gasped as she saw a burst of smoke release from her wand. It happened both slolwly and all at once. Like time had frozen in that bit of time it took for all the chaos to begin.

The dragon shot up in the air, the flames mimicking the roar of a canon and the speed of a bullet.  
Hermione fell backward, frozen as she watched it ascend higher and higher into the night sky.  
It all happened too fast. People from the Great Hall were coming up to see the commotion, all drawing back towards the school upon seeing the growling beast circle the night air. It was coming down now, full speed towards Harry and Neville.  
He ran for the Lake, Neville jumping in and the dragon hurled itself into the water only just missing him.

Draco broke free from the crowd, running towards them, yelling, "Get back! Get away from there!"

Ron lifted Hermione up just. Draco, only a few meters from them now, was running full speed.

"It's gone. We're fi—"

"The flames are cursed you idiot!"

Just as he said it Harry noticed the boiling surface of the lake. Suddenly, like a volcanic explosion, the monster broke free rising into the night once again. Neville flew into the air and came down—hard—the sound of bones crunching echoed in Harry's ear.

The flamed fiend released an ear splitting screech, a rain of flames falling from the sky just before it dove down on Ron and Hermione.  
Harry screamed watching the flames consume the two. He rushed towards the fire knowing it was over, yet willing to dive in and save them.  
Then he saw it.  
The dragon was teleporting.

Ron and Hermione stood on the other side while the fiery monster disappeared into an invisible portal, going in head first and gradually disappearing.  
It was as if it were diving into the enchanted lake, except it was vanishing into an unexplained nothingness.

It was gone. The portal closed. Only it wasn't it a portal.

In front of Ron and Hermione stood Draco Malfoy, outreaching hands in front of his face.  
A cloud ashes flew around them, Draco already coated.  
Harry gaped at the scene. Draco's arms fell limply by his side. His hands were the only part of him not coated in ash. Harry noticed the wobbling only seconds before he fell over.

No one spoke for what felt like ages. Hermione leaned down, but Ron stayed frozen in place.  
He had no idea what just happened or what type of magic Draco just used, but he figured it was better to make sure he wasn't dying before he asked him those questions.

Harry ran over to the group. The air reeked of cinder. Draco's eyes weren't closed, but he didn't look all together there, only confirming it when asking, "Where's Crabbe?"

They lifted him up and began to walk back to the castle before Harry stepped on something—Draco's black gloves.

* * *

Neville would be fine in the morning. For now they had to put up with his moaning and growling as his broken bones were put back together. It would've been simple had it been just a couple, but by muggle standards he shouldn't have been able to walk in a good nine months.

Draco was another story.  
No one really knew what the effects of _cursed ash_ intake would be. Harry sighed in relief when his eyes fluttered open and he told Neville to quit being a dramatic. After that he went back to sleep and everyone started panicking again.

Hermione and Ron had already had their minor burn injuries attended to. Cursed fire took hours to heal, but it all should've cleared up in the morning.  
"More scars," Ron said. "Just what we needed."

"I'm sorry," Harry spat. "Whose brilliant idea was this again?"

"I think I hear Neville calling me."

"Madam Pomfrey said there probably wouldn't be any permanent scaring," Harry mumbled, looking at Draco's blistered face.  
It was covered in a light green ointment that occasionally bubbled. Some of the swelling had begun to go down. He was no expert, but maybe the temperature in the room was helping.  
The castle hadn't been this cold since he'd first arrived. Maybe the heat charms were beginning to wear off. Harry stood up and put the gloves on his hands— _they were freezing!  
_ No wonder he wore gloves.  
They were almost too cold. Harry's mind began to wonder, but he stopped himself. There was no way Draco could be the cursed ruler. After all he'd done to help them, it couldn't be true. He'd known Draco all his life. If there was any chance of him having some freaky ice powers he probably would've noticed by now. The cold had to be from whatever spell he'd used to stop the Dragon.

Draco moved once in his sleep, face crinkling in pain from different places. Under the blankets his whole body was covered in that mint smelling green ointment, his hands the sole exception.

Hermione pulled open the curtains, coming out of Neville's tent. She plopped down next to Harry resting her head on his shoulder.

"I…may have gone overboard."

Harry held back the sarcasm, noting the pain in her voice. "They'll be fine."

"Neville will be."

"Malfoy too."

"But look at his breathing," Hermione said, hands forming into fists. "I thought I could control it. I memorized the instructions, but it just got out of control."

Harry was silent, staring at Draco's chest rise up and down like an uneven landscape.

"I practiced Legilmency , but it was too strong, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to me," Harry said, rubbing her shoulder. "I didn't think things through either. What if I'd casted it? It's not like I'm the occlumency expert, let alone Legilmency."

Luckily Harry didn't have to ease her worries much longer.  
Draco awoke with a jolt, panting and sweating. Madam Pomfrey rushed to his bedside. Harry wasn't sure how long she'd worked as a school nurse, but she knew a puke face when she saw one and was quick to hand him a bucket. Needless to say, the cursed ash left Draco and his breathing returned to normal.

Astoria walked in on the midst of it, followed by Luna. Draco looked like he wanted them—and everybody—gone from the room, but Astoria stood firm, brushing back strands of his hair and rubbing his back while Pomfrey held the bucket.

Luna let him grip her arm as he all but breathed out flames, eyes watering and his face an unnatural shade of red.

Hermione left, guilt ridden, and Harry followed closely behind. The moaning pains of Neville and chocked breaths of Draco trailed behind them like a shadow.

* * *

Draco rolled over in pain. The ordeal had ended, but the pain still burned all the way from his stomach up to his lungs. It felt like he'd breathed in too many lungfuls of fire. Both inside and out, his body felt scorched. Maybe it would've been better if the beast has swallowed him whole the first time.  
Had it not been for the physical pain, Draco would now be officially numb.  
He had a feeling that this time it wouldn't go away with Astoria's sweet presence as she pulled up a chair and rested her head on the bed.

Luna brought the water jar from the other end of the room to his bedside table before she waving goodbye. Draco tried to mumble a thank you, but his throat would cooperate.  
After a couple of minutes of trying he finally managed to speak.  
"Go back to the dorm. I'll be okay."

Astoria faked sleep. Draco sighed and gave up.

All hope was gone.  
Draco had hoped to be burned—for the dragon to battle right through his ice and come out on top. No one had noticed the bits of blackened snow floating alongside the cinder. Now there truly was nothing to stop his ice—no heat charm nor flamed fiend.  
The only way to save the school truly was to sacrifice the icy ruler.  
What worried him most was not his fate, but his lack of courage to fulfill it.

Soon enough, everything would freeze.

* * *

 **A/N: Please review! And I'll try to update ASAP :)**  
 **xoxo**

 **-lauralydney**


	9. Chilled Legacy IX

**A/N: EARLY UPDATE AS PROMISED. Sorry in advance for the future update...  
UM ANYWAY...  
Enjoy**

 **-lauralydney**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy IX**

Breakfast was quite. Neville's absences loomed over them like a shadow.  
Draco's was more evident—even if he wasn't much of a talker—thanks to the group of students asphyxiating them with their questions.

Hermione hadn't yet gotten over the damage her spell caused. Ron kept taking the fault when people asked questions. Harry was sure he was trying to make her feel better (and it truly was his fault when looking at specifics), but this only made Hermione feel worse. The one question they couldn't answer was how they'd survived.  
It wasn't so much the spell that was used that was difficult for Harry to explain, but the person that cast it. The question kept echoing in in his mind like an incomplete song—why would Draco Malfoy save them?  
Regardless, they stuck to the story—the Slytherin had used wandless magic to save them.

It was funny how the world worked, Harry thought.  
A larger group of students had been there to witness his act of heroism then. Their eyes had seen, yet their minds still needed confirmation that any of it had been true.  
Harry politely told them to give them back their oxygen and the group slowly disbanded.

"Do you think he'll still help us?" Ron asked.

Hermione glared at him.

"What? It's a legitimate question."

There was silence for a moment.

"Alright, fine. We're all dying to know _why_ ," Ron blurted. "I don't see the mystery. We saved him once; he was probably just returning the favor, right? It's not like we owe him anything."

The words sounded like his, but Ron didn't. Maybe if it had been him alone under the fire he could've meant them, but he hadn't stopped holding Hermione's hand since they sat down. She was alive because of their former bully, and Harry could sense Ron was grateful just as he was that both his friends had survived.  
Maybe there wasn't any fuzzy feeling inclining them to be friends with Malfoy, but for the moment throwing a single insult at him felt impossible. All the current actions had been piling up in front of them, the stack finally high enough for them to take notice.

All the countless hours of training, sitting with them at breakfast lunch and dinner to explain step by step basic concepts of heat magic only to later withstand dismissively cold glances of inexistence, stealing from his parents, and—more importantly—holding his tongue.  
They hadn't failed to notice the absence of _blood traitor_ and _mudblood_ in the average conversation. Even when insulted by Harry's various friends, there had never come a single retort. It was more of a resigned _whatever_ to the constant jibes, but still—what the bloody hell was happening with him?

"I think we should go see Neville now," Hermione said.

Harry and Ron looked at her.

Harry smiled, not at her, but at the situation. "That's code for _let's go see if Malfoy lived_ , right?"

* * *

Draco awoke suddenly. His dreams had been a messy array of nightmares, each with the same end—his sole presences among frozen corpses.  
His whole body burned considerably less since yesterday's incident. Now he only looked pink, as if his body had suffered terrible sunburn.  
Astoria had stayed overnight, her head still resting on the bed. He leaned his sore arm to per her head when he heard a soft, cold whisper. "Good morning."

Draco jerked up, biting on his tongue to keep from crying out. Just a meter above him was Moaning Myrtle, staring down at him with an undecipherable expression. Sadness? Anger? Disgust? Worriment?

Draco's voice croaked tiredly, "Wh-What are you doing here?"

"I heard rumors that you'd been hurt," Myrtle looked away sadly. "I thought that maybe that's why you hadn't visited me in—what's it been, a week? But Madam Pomfrey said you were just admitted last night.

She looked at Astoria. "Guess that wasn't the reason."

Wow. It had been a week. A week since the last time he'd hid from the living in the compounds of a filthy bathroom. He guessed what sounded like a cause of celebration to him probably wasn't one to the friendless ghost.

"I've…I've been busy."

Myrtle looked pained, eyes narrowing at his dismissive answer. Draco acted quickly before she started wailing and woke Astoria.

"I'm sorry, really."

It wasn't a lie. He did feel guilty for ditching her. She'd been there for him ever since sixth year. He'd never grown particularly attached to her, but she was more loyal than the average person. Though, in all honesty, he didn't miss her. She was a reminder of worse time—these times and the times of the Dark Lord. He was too dangerous for the living, either because of a putrid mark of the serpent, or a curse. Forever confined to be with the dead until it was his time for the slaughterhouse, when the conqueror would save the land from him.

Myrtle's eyes didn't soften as the usually did with his apologies. They grew more enraged, but she didn't scream, instead, she vanished.  
She wasn't a particularly frightening ghost, but this probably wouldn't lead to anything good.

"Alright, Mr. Longbottom, you're free to go," he heard the nurse say.

"What about Malfoy?"

The nurse must've pointed to the curtain because the next thing he knew Neville was visiting him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Too late to fake being asleep.

"Um. Hi," Draco said.

"Hello," Neville replied naturally.

"How are you feeling?"

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, dumb question. Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for…whatever it is you did to stop the thing."

Draco was shocked at the blunt statement. Of all the people Neville should thank, he wasn't one of them. Not that he kept count, but he was pretty sure that Potter's life at Hogwarts must've been a picnic compared to Longbottom's, and it was all thanks to him.

"You shouldn't thank me."  
 _Why the hell is he thanking me?_

Neville shrugged. "Probably not. But I want to."

He felt a pang in his chest. "Why?"

Neville shrugged again. "What else is someone supposed to say when they save your friends?"

"I don't know, ' _see you later'."_

"Oh, you want me to leave?"

"No—I mean—that's not what I meant."

Neville thought for a second, eyeing Draco strangely. They hadn't had an actual conversation this year and—Draco realized—he'd never actually spoken to Neville in this tone of voice. There was no mockery or malice.  
It wasn't friendly either, just sort of numb. The thought of his powers being so unstoppable still hadn't quite sunk in. Still, a bit of life sparked back into him, completely off put at Longbottom's sincerity.  
Would he have spoken to him nicely had the circumstances been different? Probably not. While he didn't have anything against Longbottom anymore, it would've been clear that he did, so why wasn't he acting like it?  
For the most part, Draco wanted Neville to despise him, just as he'd wished Luna to. Yet, his selfish inner child still craved for his eventual forgiveness—for all of theirs'.  
Astoria really did take her toll on people.

He didn't know if to push him away, seize the chance, or just keep that dumb look on his face. He went with the last.

Seeing Draco wasn't going to clarify, Neville asked, "Then what did you mean?"

"I—just that you don't need to thank me is all."

Astoria stirred in her sleep and Draco laid a hand on her head, losing himself in her beautiful brown strands for a moment, each of them sprawled across her face. Draco didn't know when he started smiling like an idiot. Maybe it was when he saw the hairs atop her adorable round nose fluttering slightly with each breath.

He forgot Neville was even standing there until Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Luna burst in, finally waking his princess. Draco could've hit them.

She looked like she wanted to kiss him goodbye, but the crowd and his healing face changed her mind and she just waved.

After Hermione chocked out a 'thank you', and Ron a pretty sincere 'what she said', Draco waited for them to exit, which they never did. The whole time his eyes kept shifting towards Luna who seemed to be the only one that really wanted to be there.

Wanting to skip his previous conversation, Draco just said, "Yeah…no problem."

"We were going to help Hermione and Neville study for the History of Magic test and Transfiguration tests," Luna told him. "Want to join us?"

They all stared at her giving her mixed signals. Neville's and Hermione's positive—Neville smiling awkwardly and Hermione nodding carefully. Harry just gave her a confused look while Ron's shot her warning looks. As usual, she picked up none of them.

"I don't really have to study anymore," he said, looking at Harry. The whole mission thing had gotten him out of this semester's assignments. If they didn't 'solve' the ice mystery by the next, then probably those too. By then the school would probably already be gone, so he didn't see much point.

"You can still join for company," Luna insisted.

He was about to deny when they all heard Madam Pomfrey's voice as she called for Draco.  
 _No. No more purgative potions. The ash is bloody gone, lady._

And that's how he ended up in a secluded corner of the library with his ex-enemies.

* * *

Studying was a million times better when your grades didn't depend on it.  
Harry and Ron turned it into a quizzing game. He was the judge while Ron kept score. Hermione, Luna, Neville and Draco participated. Whoever blurted the answer out first earned a point. There wasn't much reason for Draco studying, but Hermione had insisted he participate as it could serve him next semester _when_ everything was resolved.

Draco didn't look like he believed they would ever solve the curse, but agreed anyway. Harry had the feeling Hermione only wanted him to play so she could prove she truly was the smartest of the two without almost incinerating him.

Money was on the line here. Ron, by boyfriend obligation and pride, had bet on team Hermione/Luna, and Harry, left with no other option, bet on team Malfoy/Neville.  
Neville wasn't fairing too good on any of the subjects. His heart truly did lie solely on Herbology and the Dark Arts. Draco's quick answers made up for most of his mistakes. Luna, while she did always blurt out the correct ones, answered much slower than the rest.  
Calm, reflective. She may be smart, but she lacked the sense of competition.

It all really just came down to Hermione versus Draco for the win.

" _1356!"_ Point Hermione.

" _Deimos, 1325!"_ Point Draco.

They were neck-to-neck and the game was getting tiring. Harry gave the final challenge to Neville and Luna _._ By living miracle, Neville won.

"What?" he said, noticing the gaping faces. "Same year that _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ was released."

In the spur of the moment, he and Draco high fived and the conversation turned elsewhere.

"Can you really sing?" Neville asked.

"According to that ass-kisser, yes, but I don't know. What's the big deal anyway?"

"You should sing something!" Luna said.

"Hell no."

"Oh come of it," Ron snorted. "Like you said, what's the big deal?"

Ron paused and began laughing to himself. "Oh right, I forgot you're coward."

"Well then maybe Granger should sing," Draco told them.

Hermione gave him a confused look to which he said, "might make up for the pathetic loss. You _did_ insist I play to prove you were smarter, right? Since that failed, maybe you'd like to compete again."

A low ' _ooooh'_ echoed between the two.

Hermione blushed, having been found out. "That's not true. I actually wanted you to learn and…"

She never got to finish, Harry and Ron breaking into laughter in the background. "You burned him. Now he's burning you. Luckily you get no scars," Harry taunted.

Eventually Draco and Hermione both cracked a smile, but sadly for her, the challenge was still on.

"I sing terribly," she told him.

Draco rolled his eyes, ignoring Ron and Harry's furious nodding in the background. "It can't be that bad."

She sighed, singing lyrics Draco had never heard of. Probably some weird muggle band she was into.

Draco was expressionless, leaving her with the torturous uncertainty of his verdict.

"Wow," Draco said, clearly holding back laughter. "That was so beautiful."

"Stuff it, Malfoy," she said when he finally started laughing.

"No, really," Chocked out. "Can I have your autograph, Miss?"

Draco, Harry saw, did whatever possible to skip his turn until they'd all forgotten about it.  
The whole thing was a strange sight. Draco Malfoy had never managed a joke with a not-so-secret insult. One meant to tear down and break apart. The only other Draco they had known was the quiet shell of the previous one, still holding the same amount of anger, just without a place to throw it.

The one they had seen today was quite possibly undiscovered. Competitive, yes. Impulsively throwing insults, yes, but not like before. There was a sense of playfulness that had mixed with the old Draco, all his 'insults' were nothing more than innocent jokes that meant no real harm.  
There were times when he'd look distant, the shell of the old Malfoy taking part in his three-way split personality.

Harry had a feeling that the emptiness was the only part that didn't belong. That the real Draco was the one they'd seen today.

* * *

Draco visited Myrtle about once or twice since their confrontation. She didn't accept his apology and, while he did felt bad, Draco wasn't about to beg her for any company. It was evident to both of them that things were slowly turning around. Sure, there was still the whole _I don't know how to stop the ice and everyone I know will perish_ thing that kept him up at night, and If that didn't make his nerves rise enough, there was still the constant teenage struggle from nerves at the bottom of his stomach every time someone brought up the word 'dance'.  
The bloody thing kept being postponed because of the occasional snow showers ruining the decoration.  
However, Draco had noticed a significant decrease in those random burst of energy. All the time spent with real people, laughing again, talking again, had largely affected him.

He'd begun to think that maybe he _could_ control it. A spark of hope had lit up in him after overhearing someone in the hall talking about how warm the school felt today.

"Maybe the heat charms are working after all," Harry told Draco as he, Ron, Hermione, and Neville headed back into the school.

They'd been digging in Hagrid's garden all morning for some weird fire breathing plant Neville had recommended they get for all the classroom windows sills. It would partially keep the frost at bay for now.  
While Draco knew there was no long term cure, he was happy to be out with them, actually feeling like a contributor to the cause of stopping himself. It didn't completely make up for the guilt of him allowing their kindness. The mercy they had displayed on the monster destined to freeze them all, but if anything, it eased it.

"I swear, Weasley, I had no idea you were afraid of spiders," Draco said, pretending he didn't remember their Boggart lesson in third year.

"I am not afraid of them, but you still didn't have to chuck it at me, prick."

"You're alive, aren't you? Resorting to mud throwing is a bit much for such a tiny pest."

"One more comment on your hair I'm turning it pink," Hermione warned.

"Someone's jealous."

People in the halls stared at them as they walked. Draco had received plenty of unwanted attention ever since he stopped the fire Dragon. Many of the insults had stopped, some people going out of their way to be kind to him, as if the last six years never happened.  
Others did the opposite and treated him worse. They didn't think the one incident should cover up for the past failures. Draco agreed, but didn't really do anything to stop it either.

A first year bumped into him, almost knocking over his boxes containing the plants.

"Hey," the kid said. "Aren't you the one that saved Mr. Harry Potter from the Dragon?"

Draco steadied the boxes, raising an amused eyebrow before walking on.

"Don't start, Malfoy."

"Oh, I'm sorry, is _Mr. Harry Potter_ afraid I'll steal his fan club?"

It was all happening gradually, but not slow enough for him not to be taken aback—their hatred of him was diminishing.  
The trigger had been the dragon, now all the little actions he'd tried to do before were finally being acknowledged. Draco was earning their forgiveness.

The sense of almost normal was too good to be true. After placing the boxes in the Herbology classroom, Draco went off alone to get the mud off his skin and hair.

That's when it all came tumbling down.

He turned off the faucet, and reached for the towel rack, beginning to wipe his dripping hair. Footstep echoed in the bathroom, accompanied by a girlish giggle.  
Draco's heart skipped a beat, recognizing that laugh. Quickly, he wrapped the towel around his waist and sunk further back into the shower stall.

"I'm telling you, there's no one in here, see?"

The voices came closer. Draco couldn't make out the words, only nauseating, seductive whispers.  
 _Oh God, get me out of here._

"Wait," Blaise said. "Whose clothes are those?"

Their footsteps were right outside the door now, shoes squeaking on the wet floor. Draco held his breath, wishing he at least had his gloves.

"Gloves?" Pansy said.

 _Shit._

A cold, mocking voice broke the sound of his pounding chest. "Malfoy, where are you?"

"Reducto!"

The door broke open. He was sure the dramatic entrance wasn't necessary, but by Blaise's sniggering face upon looking at the fallen Draco, Blaise probably believed it was.

He hadn't seen Blaise since the…incident in June. Draco had avoided any confrontation this year, being quick to play deaf whenever he heard his former friend shouting his name across the hall. Draco could tell this behavior had slowly started to annoy him, and he was now about to receive some serious payback.

"Look what the cat dragged in, Pansy. The cowardly blood traitor. Are you Potter's new bitch now?"

Draco didn't answer, his eyes following Zabini's mocking flick of his gloves as he swung them absentmindedly with his free hand.  
He held his hands firmly atop his towel, his hands feeling more naked than the rest of him.

"After all, you are Weasley and mudblood's new body guard, aren't you?"

Pansy cackled. "I think you're wrong, Blaise. Looks more to me like they're his. Don't you see how he hides behind them? Pathetic. You're poor parents must be drowning in shame. Of course, you used to hide behind them instead."

Blaise raised his wand.

"Stay back!" Draco warned, instinctively pushing himself up.  
The minute his hand made contact with the soaked floor, the shower room turned to an ice ring. It crawled up the wet wall.  
Draco retracted his hand harshly. The ice followed his movements, ice spikes rising just behind him from the wall, forming a frozen wave.  
Pansy cried out and she and Blaise slipped on the ice, dragging Pansy down with him.

The wave was both beautiful and terrifying—like the open mouth of a beast captured in a picture, sharp fractures just barely touching its victims.

Draco stood up, one hand covering the other and both shaking. He met Blaise's eyes.  
Admiration. Hunger. The new dark ruler stood in front of him.  
Pansy looked the same. From fear to respect. A new Voldemort to follow.

Was that what the prophecy looked like to all of them? A dark king delighting in a sunless world? One where he'd relish in the power and death of his enemy's, driving icy blades through their hearts?  
Maybe the prophecy did sound that way, but it had never actually occurred to him that that's what everyone pictured.  
He didn't want this anymore than they did. Pansy and Blaise eyed him like a monster. A powerful being they must submit to. No one pictured a terrified teen hiding behind cheap gloves and a shit ton of fear. Like, just maybe he didn't _want_ to freeze everything he touched.

Draco drew back in disgust, a lump forming in his throat.

Blaise looked at his shaking hands, then back at his face. The respect left him. "You can't control it, can you?"

Fear of Draco was still present in his words, but the mockery was back.

"Give me the gloves, Blaise."

Blaise stood and picked up Pansy. He threw the gloves at Draco's feet.

His eyes followed Draco closely as he put them on. "Can't control them and won't use them. What use are you to me, Draco Malfoy?"

They walked off, leaving him to wonder the same thing.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm a despicable human being for ending it like this, but reviews = faster updates.  
**  
 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

 **-lauralydney**


	10. Chilled Legacy X

**A/N: So I did that thing again where I go over my usual chapter word count, so (for like the millionth time) I split the long-ass chapter into 2 parts.  
Translation: I'll probably update tomorrow after editing the other half.**

 **Sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy X**

" _Obliviate!"_

Blaise turned around slowly, a smirk on his face. "Did you really think that would work?"

Draco turned the corner again and hid behind the wall.  
It was too late. He'd already been seen. Blaise appeared in front of him in seconds. "Mind protection spell."

Draco blinked.

"Memory charms can't be reversed."

"Actually they can, but that's not the point. It's a protection spell," Blaise explained smugly. "You're not the only Dark Arts expert, _your highness_."

"Don't call me that."

"Or what? Going to use your powers?"

Draco was silent.

"Just for that I'll have to teach you a little lesson."

The words wrung in his ears and the scene in front of him stopped. Those exact words, he'd heard them before in a dream.

 _Mr. Malfoy, take off your gloves._

 _But—_

 _No buts. We're working with highly flammable ingredients today, I'm afraid._

Ice. Destruction.

"What class do we have now?" Draco asked. The question was directed at himself, but Blaise answered—potions.

Granger and Potter passed by them and broke up the almost fight. Maybe Blaise would've punched him, but Draco knew that wasn't the lesson he was talking about.

 _Proffessor Slughorn! Malfoy is wearing gloves, isn't that dangerous?_

 _You're quite right Blaise. Mr. Malfoy, take off your gloves._

"You've been acting strange lately," Hermione pointed out on the way to Slughorn's class.

Draco tried to get out of it by telling her he needed to skip, but she was having none of it. When Draco tried to tell her he felt sick it was already too late for lie number two.

It was true, he was acting strange. Whenever they went near Blaise and Pansy he'd drag them the other way. If they didn't budge, he'd run off. Conversation was inexistent in class. In those moments when he was forced to be hauled up in a room with the rest of the Slytherins, all his focus was on Blaise and Pansy.  
Draco had gone from missing his Slytherin companions to fearing them, and Granger could tell.  
Astoria was noticing too. More than once this week, he canceled their plans because of Pansy and Blaise's penetrating stare.  
Draco had read Pansy's mind more than once to know they plotted something each time to get him to reveal his powers to Astoria—fire hexes, passing notes, getting Astoria alone to convince her to rip them off.

His occlumency kept him one step ahead. After having mastered it, some aspects of Legilimency had become easier. He couldn't piece together complete thoughts (at least not Blaise's), but just enough clues to keep him at bay.  
Still, Astoria was beginning to grow saddened by his constant cold shoulder.

"Strange how?"

She looked at Blaise who was walking ahead of them but decided to go from another angle. "I haven't seen Astoria around lately."

Draco's face dropped and she retracted. "I mean, I just thought…"

"It's fine. I just—she…she—" Harry elbowed Hermione, warning her not to push it and Draco paused, idea stricken. "Blaise and Pansy found out a few things," he told them.

They both turned to look at him.

"They have what I guess you could call evidences—er—convicting my parents," Draco looked away, believing his own lie for a moment, "and myself."

Images of people driven mad from torture along with his living room filled with dozens of corpses entered his mind before could prevent it. Draco quickly pushed it back down, focusing on the problem at hand.

"Look, I know you're the biggest wet towel ever, but it's really a bad idea for me to be in class today."

Hermione let him go, taken aback by his honesty.

At least there was one vision that didn't need fulfilling just yet.

* * *

Harry watched as Draco blew Astoria off again today.

It was their free period. Astoria and Luna had come up to the group, inviting them to tag along to Honeydukes.  
The weather was cloudy, making the overall mood of the situation ever drearier.  
Draco glanced to the far side of the cafeteria. Blaise, Harry noticed, was staring intently at Draco. However impossible it might seem, his eyes were attentive, listening for Draco's reply. The more time spent with dark wizards, the more useless he felt not knowing any of these tricks.

Watching Draco deny her offer was like watching him tear off a piece of his own heart. The way his eyes lit up when he saw her was unreal. Like something out of a movie. His breath would catch in his throat and he'd strike the most unnaturally natural pose ever. In those moments one would believe him to be one of those frustrating individuals that never stopped smiling.

At least that's how it used to be.

Whatever dirt Blaise had on his family had overpowered anything else. The only traces distinguishable from the fear he felt at his presence was the pain he showed after she left for the third time this week.

"Is Blaise really worth all this?" Hermione asked him after Astoria had left, downcast.

"No. But Astoria is."

"Draco," she began. "Why don't you just tell us what happened? Four against two isn't exactly a hard fight."

"I'm not looking for a fight. Why should you care anyway?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but stopped. When had they started calling him Draco? He searched his memory, remembering the blond in the hospital wing with him after having retrieved the ingredients. _Oh, and Draco…thank you._

Draco had been too out of it to react much. After that it had been on and off between Malfoy and Draco. Slowly, however, first name basis was becoming more common between them.

"What is it?"

"He's thinking about—"

"Hey. Hey. Hey," Harry glared. "I thought we agreed you'd stay out of our heads."

Draco smiled for what seemed like the first time in ages. "It's not my fault your brain is about as complicated as a potato, _Harry_."

Oblivious to what was going on, Hermione and Ron pressed on. "You're helping us. I don't see why we can't put Blaise in his place."

"I told you—it's out of—"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Self-interest, yes. That still doesn't make revenge on Zabini any less fun."

Draco blinked, trying to compose his face.  
He smiled, pretending to think about it. "I can handle Blaise—" he turned to Hermione—"what better revenge is there than watching him sit through potions assignment in the common room anyway?"

"You've proven to have a brain. It would be a great benefit for you to use it instead of snatching free homework passes."

"Was that a compliment?"

Harry and Ron shrugged. "Till this day," Ron said, wrapping his arm around Hermione's waist, "we still can't figure it out."

* * *

That afternoon Draco led them to the music room for lunch. It was hard to get any talking in when everyone around them secretly listened to their every word.

"Wow," Harry said when he first walked in.

Neither he nor Ron knew the music room even existed. Hermione said she'd read about it in some boring book shed picked up on Hogwarts during first year.  
The place was filled with every instrument known to man and a private window-wall—you could look out, but was just brick to the outsiders.

"It feels…weird," Ron said.

"The entire place is enchanted," Draco explained. "Some say it's almost alive. Great musicians have written world famous songs just by sitting here."

"How?" Ron asked.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure how it works exactly. Something about feeding off their _feelings."_

Hermione ran her hands through the piano keys, the noise echoing throughout the room. "Have you written anything?"

"Nope. Don't plan to either."

"Why not?"

"Do I look like the feeling type to you?"

She opened her mouth, but Draco gave her a dangerous look. She closed it.

Harry sat down on the large, blue Indian carpet, laying down the food basket and they all followed.

In truth, Draco wasn't hungry but he ate anyway. They were talking about heat charms and protection spells again. He had no desire to join in. All he wanted to do was tell them how useless it all was. With Astoria almost out of his life and former friends out for his skin, the false normality he'd invented had all come crashing down. He wasn't happy with the way things were anymore.

 _Maybe I should just tell them it's me._ _Maybe they won't kill me._

A _maybe_ wasn't enough to turn himself in. He'd have to be cunning, and figure out just what exactly they planned to do with the ruler. Would Potter really kill him?

The rain outside grew stronger and Draco became more alert.

Ron smiled. "I've been waiting for this moment."

"Excuse me?"

"Remember that prank you pulled?"

Draco saw were this was going and internally began to panic. Of all the things he needed right now, this was most certainly not one of.

"A harmless prank was all it was. Honestly—you overreacted by throwing the mud—wasn't that enough?"

"What are you two going on about now?"

Draco pretended he didn't know as he took exaggerated bites of his food.

"A bit of a recap," Ron began as Draco's face grew red. "Who remembers are third year Boggart lesson? We learned many things that year. Apparently Harry's afraid of fear itself, I of spiders, and my lovely girlfriend of low grades."

"Get to the point."

"Right, anybody remember Draco's Boggart?"

Harry laughed. "Seriously, after all that's happened you expect me to remember _that_?"

"Well, you should. He did mock you all throughout that year after he learned yours."

"I was thirteen."

"You threw a spider at me. I don't care."

"No, Weasley, I was thirteen. I, unlike you, outgrew feat of trivial things like spiders or—"

"Thunder?"

Lightning lit up the room, followed by a roaring sound in the sky, as if sent from heaven to help Ron prove his point.  
Draco jumped slightly.

His glove protected hands frosted the fork and Draco slid it under the plate.

"It echoed around the house when I was younger. My _mansion_ didn't look like the cozy wormhole you live in when lighting flashed outside. It would traumatize the best of us."

"You tell yourself that, Malfoy."

Hermione shook her head. "You've got to be kidding. You two are about as mature as overly medicated apes."

"Not my fault your boyfriend's an idiot."

Harry began to stand up and Hermione grabbed his arm. "Harry if you try to open that window, you fall into the category."

Draco rolled his eyes at the whole thing. He had to admit, the sound was unsettling. Like the universe itself crashing upon you. It couldn't really be heard in the dungeons, so it hadn't been a problem here at Hogwarts before.  
Though, it wasn't bad enough to cause collateral damage. Other than his pumpkin juice being frozen solid as well as all of his silverware, everything was going great. Still he decided not to eat before too many things frosted over.  
He had worse thing to fear. Thunder was like a single bee after having faced the hive.  
At least it gave them something else to talk about. He thought about how to break the news to them.

' _I can't help you'…Shouldn't be that hard_.

Problem was, it was the worst thing he could say now. They would ditch him just when they were beginning to not hate him. With Astoria being off limits, they were the only thing he had left. This mixed in with everything that was going on currently until his thoughts became a spiraling disaster.

 _Blaise was acting stranger than usual today,_ he thought.

Whatever he was planning now couldn't be worse than making him avoid Astoria, could it?  
 _I really should just tell them I'm the ruler_.  
Once he ditched them, they were bound to find out eventually.

The truth almost left his lips when another flash of lightning followed by rippling thunder startled him and he saw it—the first snowflake.

Draco stood up and grabbed his bag.

Ron and Harry were laughing while Hermione tried not to. He truly did wish it were thunder that he feared.

* * *

Harry watched Draco's quill moved swiftly over the parchment, marking down areas to place new heat charms along with jotting down the trio's ideas on the side of the paper. Again, he was amazed how he so easily managed wandless magic. He would've thought it was to show off had his face not been so dejected.

The moment they agreed to meet in the library to work on new methods, his whole demeanor changed. His eyes had darted across the three, words on his tongue, but he ended up keeping quite.  
Harry didn't push it, but he never expected what would happen tonight.

"I could talk to Charlie," Ron said. "How do you think a dragon would fare against the curse?"

"It would die."

Ron looked at him, about to argue, when Draco held up a hand.

"We all would."

"Such an optimist," Harry joked.

The room suddenly felt cold, the familiar presence of doom looming around them.

"It's called being realistic. We've tried every heat curse known to man. Nothing works. Unless you kill him—or her—we're going to freeze."

All attempts of humor were gone. Harry felt the knots in his stomach tighten.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, taken aback by his own words. "I just can't do this anymore."

Ron gave Hermione the _I told you so_ look before bawling his fists and glaring at Malfoy. "Can't do what? Keep your word? Help us?"

"No. I can't keep sending you down empty rabbit trails. You want help? There you have it—the truth."

"It's not the truth," Ron insisted. "You're giving up. Just when I was beginning to think we could trust you."

Pain crossed his features, but he quickly composed himself. "What more do you want me to do?"

The room was silent as Ron thought of answer. Harry spoke, breaking it.

"Malfoy is right. Maybe we should just find them and turn them in."

"Are you sure you can?"

"Finding them can't be that hard," Hermione said.

Draco sighed and shook his head. "Turning them in I mean."

Harry gave him a strange look. "You said it yourself, it's the only way. Besides, it's not like they'll make me do the killing."

"In that moment you might as well be."

Once again, a silence formed.

"You killed the Dark Lord," Draco went on. "Why should this be any different? I'm sure you'll manage when the time comes."

"You sound too sure of that."

Draco stood up, a crazed look on his face. "I am. After all, doesn't famous Potter always save the day?"

Harry watched him leave, doing nothing to stop him.  
A toxic brew of anxieties began to dance around in Harry's stomach. Everything was just as Draco said, and he'd known all along. They all had.

Ron had taken Hermione's hand, his thumbs drawing careful circles atop it. Harry suspected it was more for his sake than hers, he too whishing there was something to distract from the present sensation. It was all finally like old times. The studying, the friends, the crazy schemes. It had all been missing the ever so crucial detail—peril.

Maybe before he'd thought it possible to beat the curse without direct involvement, but—once again—it was kill or be killed.

"There's something else," Hermione said. "Something he isn't telling us."

"What more could there possibly be?"

"I think he knows who it is. Didn't you see his face? He's worried."

Harry shook his head. Draco was on their side. That much had been clear. But he also couldn't deny the strangeness of it all. Malfoy had said it himself that he'd known he was leading them astray long ago. "Why?"

"Maybe he's trying to protect someone," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Slytherins are known for their loyalty. It's not crazy to think he would still try to cover up for Blaise. Remember how afraid he was of him?"

"They're also known to be cunning," Ron objected. "Who said he was on our side at all? I think you're right. He was covering up for someone by leading us off their tail, but maybe it had nothing to do with protecting them. From what I've heard, they probably don't need any protecting."

"Do you really believe he's still against us? Even after saved us from _my_ spell?"

Ron thought for a second before answering. "I don't know," he said honestly. "He could've just been trying to protect himself from the ruler by working for them rather than against them. He preserves himself as always. You just said you think he's protecting the ruler. How can he be for us and against us with that logic?"

The more Harry thought about it, the more Ron began to make sense. Self-preservation. How could they've been so blind? It's what he'd always done.

Words from the past weeks echoed in his head. He said it himself more than once— _I'm only in this for self-interest._ How long exactly Malfoy had known the situation was hopeless, Harry didn't know.

 _Long enough,_ he thought. _Long enough to help the ruler plan their next move._

Anger began to boil inside him but Harry pushed it back down.

"No," he told them.

They were tense. Harry could tell they were beginning to feel the same. "We can't. We need proof."

Hermione sighed and sunk deeper into her chair. "What we can't do is turn this mission around into _investigation Malfoy_."

Harry grinned. "Actually that's exactly what we need to do. If what Ron says is true then investigating him could lead us straight to the ruler."

* * *

 **Slightly uneventful. Part 2 will be better. See you people tomorrow XD**

 **-Lauralydney**


	11. Chilled Legacy XI

**A/N: Update is a bit late. I got sick...What a way to start 2017  
Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter! And Happy 2017!**

 **-Lauralydney**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy XI**

It was midnight, but he was wide awake. Somehow he never stopped to wonder about why no one had ever said a thing to McGonagall about him not staying in his dormitory at night. Draco guessed the Slytherins viewed it as a bonus anyway. They didn't want him there, and he'd rather sleep with the thundering roar outside than with them anyway.  
Slughorn had brought it up in one of their conversations, but after joining the Slug Club the man probably thought it best if his only singer avoided detention.  
Regardless, the room of requirements adjusted to being soundproof. Sensing Draco's annoyance, it changed back. The storm grew louder and it became soundproof again.

"Fine. So I didn't outgrow it."

Now all that was missing was it being anxiety-proof.

Draco had run into Blaise on his way here. He'd begun to see that his former friend's fury went much deeper than that simple fight they'd had over the summer.  
After he caught Pansy cheating on him with Blaise when he paid her a visit, Draco had laughed in Zabini's face. He told them both they weren't even worth the effort of revenge, hurting him in the best place he could—his pride.

It was evident he had it coming, but there was something more. He could see it behind the twisted smile when he told—ordered—Draco to breakup with Astoria.

That was the last straw for him. The look of triumph Blaise had given him after Draco told him to go to hell had sent his pulse rising to an unhealthy level. In all honesty he wouldn't be surprised if everyone knew his secret tomorrow, but somehow that didn't sound like what Blaise wanted. Not yet.

Draco sat his books down on the reading table. No bed had appeared this time. If he'd thought of one there was no chance he could've resisted crawling in, but he had to stay awake.

The light above the table brightened as he took a deep breath and opened his old family records.

There was nothing. Nothing new, that is.  
Same old family tree, all the way down to the to the last traceable arranged marriage.  
He thought about packing up and going to Arendelle again, but with the trio and McGonagall watching him like hawks, those chances were long gone. Everyone would notice the snow stopped at his absence.  
Hands shaking, he threw the book against the. The pictures inside protested.

"We can't help you if you rip us to shreds!" a voice called from inside.

Draco grabbed the book again, finding the page.

Andromeda Tonks stared back at him. He'd never actually seen a picture of her before. The one back at home was blackened, left with nothing but the name as indication of her existence.

"Help me?"

Andromeda smiled kindly. "Yes, Draco. What is it you seek?"

She looked so much like Bellatrix that it was hard to believe she could offer genuine help. Had it not been for the kindness in her eyes and the sincerity in her voice, Draco would've shut the book again.

" _The ruler of Arendelle._ Are they in here?"

The hissing murmurs coming from the other pictures became instantly silent. Andromeda's eyes were wide. In a blink of an eye, she was gone. So much for helping.  
If anything, this meant he was looking in the right place. Draco almost hit himself. How had he not tried it before?

" _Revilio!"_

The book twitched, but nothing happened.

"You'll never find it like that," a familiar voice informed.

"Aunt Bella," Draco said. " _You_ care to tell me how?"

"That depends. Have a little secret, do we? Care to show me?"

Draco glared. "No. Do you know anything about the curse or not?"

" _I_ don' blood traitor doesn't either—not the real us anyway. Word gets around in this dear old family book. You learn secrets only old memories would know. Show me the powers, darling. It's the only way to get what you want."

"Don't listen to her, Draco," Andromeda said. "The rulers are vile, cruel individuals. Most all of them have destroyed entire cities."

He never saw her return to the picture, having been too focused on deciphering Bellatrix's code. Was she bribing him for information? There was no thirst behind the order.

"You mean built entire kingdoms," Bellatrix interjected. "Wiping them clean of filthy mudbloods and starting from scratch."

"Most of them?" Draco asked. "What stopped the others?"

"Once someone inherits the powers, the only way to end the winter is to kill them," Andromeda told him. Her eyes were filled with worry. "The only known case of a surviving ruler put a stop to the cursed bloodline. There hasn't been another in centuries."

Bellatrix cackled. "Or so you thought."

Andromeda shook her head. "It can't be true."

"Show her, Draco."

Finally understanding what Bellatrix meant, he removed his glove and placed his hand over cover.

As the frost spread over the pages, the book began to glow and the pictures gave way to writing…

* * *

"Haven't you ever thought about it before?"

"What?

Hermione had begun compiling her own ideas in the library shortly after Draco left. It was mostly quiet, but then she'd blurt out a random thought and Harry would look up expectantly, only for her to shake her head again and sink back into concentration.

This time, however, she kept going.

"The snow, it's always strongest at night. Maybe the ruler is cultivating their powers then, and hiding them during the day."

"The hiding was obvious enough," Harry added. "But how does this help us?"

"Easy, we use the map to see who's out of bed."

Ron shook his head. " _Everybody_ is out of bed. No one gets any sleep these days. Either they're up in the Astronomy tower, or the run off to the pub."

Harry's hopeful smile faded.  
The school was midnight zombie infested nightmare. Everything was okay by day, but at night, those tormented by memories would avoid sleep altogether. The number of those able to see Thestrals along with the dangerous dependency on sleep potions had also gone up. All these thing intertwined into a web of postwar disaster.  
It all felt useless anyhow. As smart as Hermione was, all her ideas lead back to square one.  
They didn't know the origin of this thing; let alone how to stop it.  
Somehow Draco had convinced them that they were getting somewhere, but with him gone, he now came to realize they had always been walking in circles.  
In all truth, Draco had been right. Harry couldn't kill another student. Just like Draco back at the Manor, he couldn't hand them over to death. Not in his mind. Maybe when the time came, instincts would prevail.  
At least that's what he'd tell himself.

* * *

He awoke on a bed though he'd fallen asleep on the table. The room of requirements never did cease to impress him. Like every morning, he waited for the room to melt before dressing and mentally preparing himself to face the crowds.

A single sheet of paper sat on the desk next to the family records.  
Last night had been a complete disaster. The message inside…Draco wasn't sure was a message at all. It was completely in code, and he'd passed out not long after trying to crack it. He needed a clear mind, and with his drooping head, not much was figured out during his study session.  
Though, one thing was for sure—there were two ways to stop the curse. One he knew all too well, the other still remained unclear.  
Even if Andromeda hadn't revealed there had been a sole exception, the code gave it away. After reading it a couple dozen times, it had been the only message he'd been sure of.

Draco rubbed his hands together, securing his gloves in place. A mirror appeared in front of him and he winced.  
It's not that he hadn't wanted to see his reflection, but rather was slightly startled by his expression. There was something off in his stare. A fear that hadn't been there before.

Slowly, things sunk in.

It was that horrible feeling something—someone, maybe a being of higher intelligence—would send moments before disaster. An inexplicable tension from the atmosphere even though nothing was amiss.

His whole body sent warning signals for him not to step out that door, but Draco was a skeptic.

No. He refused to crawl back in bed.

He shook his head, fearfully amused. _I'm not going to stop living because of a hunch._

Mentally going over his schedule, he thought of what he'd tell Potter and the others today. The plan was to come clean.  
Harry had passed the test. He'd seen they look in his—the same resignation that reflected back at him in the Malfoy Manor upon looking into Harry's eye.  
He wouldn't turn them in.  
He couldn't.

From then on, they would help him—maybe find a cure or a way to stop the dreaded future. After all, his enemies had slowly turned into something more. Draco wasn't sure the word was appropriate yet, but it was at least close enough to where they wouldn't execute him on the spot.  
Harry would help him. They all would.

Maybe after all this was over, he wouldn't have to hide in the shadows of hatred anymore. If anything, telling the trio would lead them to trust him more, enough for _when_ all this was over to further leave all the loneliness he'd experienced these last few years.  
His parents would never approve of the companions. Then again, when they find out Astoria is a muggle lover they'll probably hate her too, but at this point it didn't matter what they thought.

He took a deep breath, his lungs shaking. If he gathered enough courage, maybe he could tell them today.

* * *

The glares bored into him like flaming needles. He walked closer to the posters, his eyes finally adjusting to the details.  
Every inch of his body froze and his stomach dropped to his feet.

" _Crucio! Crucio! Crucio_!" the array of images chanted in a messy symphony.  
It was him. It was his face.  
Wanted posters of him—and Draco hadn't the slightest idea how someone captured it—torturing war victims in the manor.

The image was blurred, almost as if covered in fog, but it was still distinguishably him standing next. The prisoners…Draco remembered every last one of them. These were the relatives of a younger Ravenclaw student. Blood traitors.

The crowd grew larger by the second until the entire hall was filled with most of the school. The Draco in the posters kept shouting. Over. And over. And over.

The victims screeched. Over. And over. And Over.

His eyes scanned over the words, not picking up entire sentences. Like the image, he was fogging over.

 _Draco Malfoy. Dangerous. Death Eater. Murdered and tortured innocent war victims._

They were fake. It was cheap print paper one could buy at Hogsmeade. Somehow that didn't ease any of his growing panic.

His eyes swam over the crowd. Even the teachers were eying him with disgust.

Someone broke the silence. " _Inhuman!"_

A sea of angry murmurs broke out and a smirking caught his eye. Not far from him was Astoria's horrified face. Her hand was clamped over her mouth, eyes on the verge of tears.  
It was all a dream. It had to be. The thudding of his heart in his throat and the draining of blood from his face.

His feet carried him far away from the booing crowd. Turn after turn until he collapsed on the cold stone floor, clutching his knees in a vacant hall.

His breath shook along with his entire body. Draco clawed at his chest, the compression strangling him like an inflating rope, tightening and expanding inside him. Completely stripped of all securities and left bare, with nothing but a primal fear and hopelessness.  
Anger at himself for complaining about the previous episodes welled up, leaving his body in the form of muffled screams.

Nothing had and nothing would ever compare to this.  
 _Astoria's face_.  
He banged his head against his knees but the image wouldn't leave.

 _Someone sedate me._

Draco wanted to Madam Pomfreys and chug dangerous amounts of dreamless sleep. But he wasn't sure what was worse—living another second of this panic attack, or facing the crowds to end it all.

Even if someone wanted to follow him, they couldn't reach him now. The hall had already into an icy cave with dangling spikes. He didn't mind any of them fell on him, or if everyone had put two and two together and blamed him for the expanding ice.  
It was hollow and dark, with just barely enough light for him to see his breath. If the spikes didn't kill him, hypothermia would.

The entrance closed slowly, like a vanishing whirlpool.

Someone burst in.

The sound of feet crunching on fresh snow reached his ears. Draco didn't have to look up to know who it was.

"Like my trick, Draco? It was quite easy to make. I found it in an old charms book. To this day, I had no idea memories could be framed. Remember that day? Maybe I should've used the other memory, you know, your pathetic crying afterword?  
"Then again, that might've gotten a different reaction from your adoring fans."

Draco looked up, not caring if Blaise saw the remaining tears slide down his chin.

"You—you weren't even—"

"There? Yes. I know. But your dear old friend Goyle was. He was more than happy to help me out in your demise. He blames you for Crabbe's death, you know."

" _Why?"_

Blaise's smile disappeared. "You're weak. Pathetic. I should be the heir, not you."

Draco was silent, and he felt Blaise enter his thoughts, too tired to block him out.

"Oh Draco. She isn't afraid of you yet. Can't you see? Your sweet little princess was the only one to run after you, to tear down my work of art—" Blaise paused, taking in his dumbfounded stare—"of course, she was quite mad when I told her you'd been confiding in Myrtle instead of her this whole time."

Draco opened his mouth but no noise came out. Blaise continued.

"I'm sure whatever string is holding your relationship now is bound to break when I tell her about this? Yes?"

Draco didn't respond. Blaise bared his teeth and raised his wand. "Speak up vermin. _Yes, your highness."_

Draco's hands dug into the snow. His legs wobbled from the ordeal, but he stood up.

"Fuck off, you wannabe prick."

"I bet you always wondered what your prisoners felt. _Crucio!"_

Draco's bones burst into flames. Countless hot shards of glass growing smaller, the tiniest bits scraping over every area of his muscles and tendons. All his cells screamed in agony.  
It didn't spread gradually. The pain just was.  
He wanted it to end.  
To die.

An inhuman cry left his lips.

But Blaise was mistaken.

He'd felt this pain before. All of Voldemort's followers did at least once. The Dark Lord broke them in. A method of teaching dogs to submit to their master.

The pain left suddenly, and Draco knew what he had to do.

"Yes… _your highness."_

Too late he realized that it was not the reason Blaise had stopped. His contorting body made the icy spikes wrap around Blaise's body, like coiling roses. Some of the smaller ones had already begun to pierce his skin, one dangerously close to his stomach. Trickles of blood stained the snowy ground.

Draco smiled unknowingly.

" _Yes, your highness."_

It took him a moment to realize it was he who had spoken. His voice sounded strange, as if he were hearing it from afar.  
He ripped off one glove, crushing the spikes deeper into Zabini's skin. For the most part, he wasn't there. It was like watching a movie, and all you could do was press pause. No change of action. Either you did it or you stopped, and sunk further into despair.

Making his fingers curl slowly, he watched as Blaise face morphed from shock, realization, horror, and finally agony.  
A gruff cackle—a laugh that sounded like his own, yet a million miles away.  
Blaise began to scream and the low laugh grew louder.

He felt more than nothing. So past nothing that the darkness inside had taken the wheel. A growing monster inside human kind—their nature. Every once in a while saw it slip through their poorly concealed cracks. Lies. Selfishness. Lust. Ignorance. Rebellion. _Hatred.  
_ A few fought it longer than other, but it was always a losing battle. Maybe it was easier to just be consumed. He'd been fooling himself thinking he could ever win. There was no light in him to drown out the darkness.

It was an icy ruler Blaise had wanted. He got his wish. They all would. Draco held their lives in his hands. Each and every one would freeze.

It was hard to tell who he would have spared. Maybe—if this had continued—no one at all.  
But the trance was broke.  
Draco caught his own reflection on the nearest icicle to Zabini's face, millimeters away from slashing straight into his throat.

His hand drew back and the spikes retracted. Blaise fell to the ground.

 _That can't be me._

* * *

 _That can't be him._

Not that he could be sure through the three inch thick wall of ice separating him from the ruler. Harry heard the screams—half the school had.

At first everyone had thought it was just another echo of the victims on the poster, but this one had sounded much too real—echoless.  
So far this was what he and McGonagall could deduct:

The ruler had trapped Blaise and Malfoy inside the snowy cavern. They had arrived late. Whatever the three had been discussing was impossible to know, but he had heard it clearly— _yes, your highness._

Ron had been right. Draco was working against them. His voice—and Blaise's—Harry was able to piece together quickly.  
The ruler's voice didn't sound like anything he'd ever heard. For a second his mind slipped into picturing Malfoy, but it didn't fit.  
After all, he was being tortured. Not to mention the…the… _monster_ behind it. There were few people who could send chills by speaking, and Draco Malfoy wasn't one of them. The only thing he'd proved to be was a two-faced coward, but monster still didn't quite fit the picture.

It had taken the force of twelve wands to pierce through the barrier.

Harry stepped into the cavern, his quickening breath visible as he held out his wand, ready to attack.  
But the ruler was gone. Hermione and Ron followed close behind him, slowly lowering their wands at the sight of the two wizards lying on the floor  
The first body they saw was Zabini's. He was sprawled out, face down atop a pile of fallen icy shards. Blood pooled into the nearby snow.

Draco sat on the opposite side. McGonagall rushed to Blaise's side while Harry treaded carefully towards Draco.  
Malfoy had warned them about Blaise. All three had known the Slytherin was plotting something against Draco. Him torturing war prisoners shouldn't have come as a surprise. They all knew he'd done it at one time or another, but seeing it resurrected old—and new—feelings for their not-so-former enemy.  
It was true he held nothing but the burning sensation of betrayal and hatred for him right now, but with Blaise unconscious, Malfoy was the only one who could give them answers.

Harry knelt down next to him. Malfoy was shivering violently, but somehow he didn't appear cold. His visible knuckles were white from his naked hand squeezing the glove like a life line.

"Malfoy?"

His eyes were mad. Unfocused.

Harry waved a hand in front of his face, "Malfoy?"

"I think he's in shock," Hermione said unsympathetically. Whatever warmth had begun to grow for Draco over the last few days had vanished from her too.

"There's no time for that," Ron spat. "We at least need to know where they went!"

Hermione smacked him across the face.

Draco clasped his hand on his cheek, for a brief moment returning to reality. "The ruler," Harry repeated. "Do you know who he is?"

Draco looked at his hands, then at Blaise's body as they carted it out of the cavern. He slipped the wrinkled glove on. "I've always known."

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you liked this chapter :) I'll try to update again soon.**


	12. Chilled Legacy XII

**A/N: This took far too long to write. It's late. I'm late. Everything is late- _summary of my life right now_**

 **Anyway!  
Sorry, and I hope you like this one.  
-Lauralydney**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy XII**

Harry had only turned his back for a second and Malfoy was gone. The clouds of steam drifting aimlessly around him made it impossible to deduce which way he'd gone.

The headmistress was too busy dealing with the commotion to help with the interrogation.  
Some students had spilled onto the scene despite the D.A's best efforts to keep them back. The icy cavern was still melting,—the source of the steam—the process largely sped up by Slughorn and the other teachers.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron had taken Draco away from the crowd to a secluded hallway.  
The initial shock from the posters had worn off, but now Harry had different reasons to want to punch his face.  
 _I've always known._

What kind of sick joke was that? Without knowing it, sometimes Ron hit the nail perfectly on the head. Draco had been trying to protect the ruler by tricking them. As if that weren't enough, now the Slytherin wouldn't even open his lying mouth.

"Anything," Harry pleaded. "Say _anything_."

"Try shaking him again," Ron suggested.

"No," Harry said, turning to Hermione. "Slap him again. It worked last time."

She looked down shamefully. "That was—I don't…"

"I know it was a spur of the moment, but it's the only way. I can do it if you want."

Right now Harry didn't feel remorseful. If his suspicions were correct, he wouldn't feel too bad beating him to a pulp. But then again, he could be wrong.  
Draco looked so hollow. His eyes were wide and he seemed to be caught up in a repetitive daydream—or daymare if that was a thing.

"We should take him to Madam Pomfrey's," Ron said, and Harry lowered his hand. "There's got to be a potion or something, right?"

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "But she'll be too busy tending to Blaise. I'll go look for Astoria."

Ron left with her. Not thinking he would move, Harry had gone in search of Slughorn to ask him what to do.

Now it was just him and his failed attempts at ever becoming an Auror.

 _I lost the witness. Who loses the witness?_

* * *

He heard faint footsteps, but refused to move.

"It's chillier than I thought it would be."

Luna Lovegood plopped down next to him. Draco had been laying here in music room for hours. No one had come looking for him, but then again no one suspected he'd be here.  
Maybe Potter and Slughorn guessed this much, but no one except the Ravenclaw had come barging through the door.

There were no ice spikes or swirling flakes of snow. The room had a numb sort of cold to it—like time had stopped here.  
The only thing he could compare it to was an empty cooler room—no snow, completely sealed and deathly. Slowly, it drained the warmth from his body.  
Maybe Luna was talking, maybe she wasn't. Draco lied on the cold floor waiting to pass out from the dropping temperature, shivering without notice.

A small pool of blood had formed under his left arm.  
In all honesty, he wasn't sure what happened. He had a vague memory of casting a spell—Draco had tried to remove the dark mark. His words were sluggish, and it backfired. He didn't know the extent of the damage, only that his arm was still attached to his body…thankfully.

Moments—maybe due to the blood loss—where he'd zone in and out into both light and dark daydreams came often. Some were of Astoria, but most were of his parents.  
His mom's soft voice, his dad's rare smile. They had loved him in their own strange way, but obviously not enough to stick by him. The curse, to them, hadn't only been a sign of future danger, but evidence of a malfunctioning gene.  
Draco had been their heir—their evidence of a pureblood heritage. The powers put all of that at risk. Had he ever been anything more than that? He wanted to hate them, but right now they were all that he wanted.  
Well, maybe not them, but the idea of them. The idea of unconditional love that he knew wasn't there.

Different memories came to life in his mind to distract him from what he'd tried to do—what he'd almost done. They hurt, yes, but reality just wasn't the place to be at the moment.  
Was he so absorbed in them as to not feel the cold or was that the hypothermia kicking in?  
Nothing about his powers made sense. Too much cold was bad, and not enough was also.

The room was suddenly dark. Luna had draped a long fur cape atop of him. What animal hair it may be, he doubted anyone knew. Involuntarily, he grabbed at it, pulling the warmness closer.

"I was saving it for winter, but I carry it around with me most days now."

Some time passed—maybe an hour. The room was still alarmingly cold, but most of the shivering had stopped. Draco didn't know when he sat up, but now he stared at the melting frost of the piano to his side while Luna chatted away.  
How did she know to do that?  
The sound of her voice, though he wasn't listening, slowly brought him out of wherever he'd been.  
It was gentle.  
Friendly.

"You don't seem surprised," Draco noted, his breath visible still.

She stopped midsentence, then continued, treating this like another story. "I've known for a while," Luna began. "That day you ran to the bathroom and Astoria and I went looking, I saw. Don't worry, I didn't tell anyone, not even Astoria."

This surprised him. She'd known this whole bloody time?

"Why not?"

"The others don't like strange—I think it sort of shakes their reality, like wrackspurts. When they see it, they want to destroy it. Astoria would be sad if that happened…and I knew you'd want to tell her yourself."

Draco felt a small pang in his chest but shook his head. "Surely you know why Potter's here? You'd just let him run around in circles?"

"Harry's a great friend—one of my best, but Astoria, Ginny, and Neville didn't need me to prove myself as an equal to be their friend. They never saw me being _Looney_ as a bad thing. Harry tends to jump to conclusions, so I couldn't tell him.  
"I don't like it. I had to cover for you that day you left for the Manor…and told Astoria it had begun to snow before you arrived. "

He remembered that day, a small weight lifting off his shoulders when he realized it had been him and not some other bloodthirsty ice freak.

Draco wracked his brain, but didn't get it. "The ruler— _me_ —will destroy everything. You heard the prophecy, why would…?"

Luna shrugged. "I would've told them, but you're the ruler. Not everything is written in stone. I do not think you would hurt anyone."

Draco was silent for a moment. "You've met me and you know that's not true."

"You can't change the past, Draco. You can only make a better future."

"I tried to kill Blaise an hour ago."

"That still counts as the past. It's something that already happened, you see. Even the most recent past is the past."

After staring at the strange girl for what felt like an eternity Draco sighed, resigned. "You're something else, Luna Lovegood—" he took off the cloak and handed it back to her—"I hope you're right."

She was doing this for Astoria. For the first time Draco felt jealous of his most prized treasure. Astoria had friends he could only dream of.  
He shook it off, reminding himself that she deserved them. Draco did not.

Luna spoke, interrupting his train of thought. "I recognize those footsteps," she said, glancing around at the frosted everything. "You should let me do the talking. It wouldn't take much. I don't think he hates you anymore."

His breathing grew quieter as the footsteps grew louder.  
Draco was still partially out of it, and didn't have much time react.  
Neville swung open the door of the music room.

* * *

Ron and Hermione returned with Astoria. They'd found her wandering the halls, madly tearing down Draco's posters. Some, she still held in her hand.

"Where is he?"

She was calmer than Harry thought she'd be. He'd never really seen her so collected. The few times he caught glimpses of the famous Astoria Greengrass—Draco's personal drug addiction—she was either scarily happy to be around Malfoy, or looked like someone kicked her dog after Draco's rejection.

"I lost him."

Her face changed. He didn't think a girl that petit with such big brown eyes could look scary.

" _You what?_ How do you lose an entire person in five minutes?!"

"It's a big castle," Ron defended.

Astoria sighed. "He had one job—"she dropped the posters. "I'm done with all this. I'll be tearing down the ones the Astronomy tower if you need me."

Astoria pointed her wand at the ground and set the posters aflame.

Harry and the others stepped back and Astoria walked away.

"Isn't she a joy?" Ron said.

"If they were posters of me, you probably wouldn't be smiling now," Hermione argued.

"You probably shouldn't tell her you slapped her boyfriend," Ron said, ignoring her dire statement.

Hermione didn't back down. "I never particularly liked Malfoy. Just when I think he's turning into a decent human being, the chance that he's plotting against the end of life as we know it arises. _However_ , I don't have enough proof. Whatever _is_ happening has nothing to do with Astoria.  
"It's bad enough she fell for a prat like him, but now she's all alone tearing down his posters."

She turned to face him, and then looked back towards where Astoria had wandered. "Remember when I said you have the emotional range of a teaspoon?"

Ron didn't have a comeback for this one.

Hermione trailed off after the Slytherin.

The halls were deathly quiet again. Everyone must've still been watching the ice cave tumble.

"You should make up with her today," Harry said. "Tomorrow's the ball."

Ron—who still had a look like dog after being hit with newspaper—mumbled back, "tomorrow's the ball."

* * *

Draco did as Luna instructed.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. While Neville had been far more courteous towards him in spite of all the hell Draco had put him through, his reaction was more or less the same as the trio's when they'd found him.  
He'd been too out of it to take much notice, but now the hatred was alive.

"Luna step away from him," Neville insisted again. "I'll drag you away if I have to."

"But you don't know for sure it's him. I'm here too. I could be doing it. Do you really want to risk turning in the innocent one?"

It was obvious to everyone that it wasn't Luna making the room freeze. She was motionless and calm, even her words sounding like a lullaby.  
Draco's breaths were uneven and every time Neville shot him a glare the surrounding area became drastically colder.

" _Innocent?"_ Neville spat. "Ruler or not, _he's_ anything but."

Luna opened he mouth to argue, but Draco finally spoke. "He's right."

Neville switched his gaze to him and the piano finished frosting. "I'm not innocent. I won't stop you—I'll even follow you now to the office if that's what you want."

He's figured he would've been caught any moment after what happened with Blaise. If Luna and Neville hadn't found him, someone else would've. He didn't really want to be executed now anymore then he did last week, but Draco was done fighting it.  
Today was supposed to be the day he would to tell the trio about his powers. They were supposed to understand. They were supposed to help him crack the book's code, but there was no hope for that anymore.  
Even without the powers, Neville's anger was justified. Had Draco's parents been tortured into insanity by a curse Neville used so freely, he probably would've killed him right then and there.

Luna stood with him. A small smile spread across her face when she saw Neville's dumbfounded stare.

"Okay then…let's go."

In the hallway Neville's eyes kept shifting towards Draco. They weren't alert as if waiting for him to make a run for it. At first he just seemed puzzled, but as the minutes passed his expression grew unreadable.  
Luna walked right beside Draco, her smile growing wider.

"Neville," Luna said softly. "Draco's sorry you had to see the posters. He's just too guilt-ridden to say so," she paused then finished, "and proud."

Both Draco and Neville stopped walking. Neville looked at him while Draco's eyes trailed after Luna wondering if she was a seer, legilimens, alien, or just frighteningly good at reading people.

Genuinely confused as to why everyone had stopped moving, Luna walked back towards them.

"Oh, good thinking Neville," she said. "We should take him to see Madam Pomfrey's first. I could try to fix it, but I don't want to risk the arm getting infected."

Draco's breath caught his throat.

"What is she talking about?"

Feeling the burn for the first time since walking quietly to his death, Draco lifted his sleeve.

Neville winced at the sight. A single, long open gash ran down his left arm. An inch wide with blood pooling down from the exposed dermis layer. Looking at it now made Draco panic slightly, the feeling to his fingers slowly subsiding.

"I was trying to get rid of the scar, but the spell backfired," Draco said quickly. He didn't need anyone thinking he'd hit a new point of psycho.

"Alright. Fine. You win, Luna."

"You weren't going to do to it. I only helped you realize that."

He sighed in defeat and turned to face Draco who was politely waiting for someone to explain what the hell they were talking about.

"I'm not turning you in. There's a good chance I'll punch your freakily pale face, but…"

"…You're not?"

Neville looked back down at his injured hand. Drops of blood hand begun to splatter on the floor now that this robes weren't soaking it up.

"No, I'm not."

Unable to help himself, Draco slipped carefully into Neville's thoughts.

 _A proud death eater wouldn't do that to the mark._

No. They wouldn't. Draco—feeling more awake now than he had before this morning—asked uncertainly, "Unspoken apology accepted?"

Neville looked at Luna then back at him, and finally smiled. "Yeah."

"It might not be a game, but you did win something, Neville."

"A new friend, of course."

* * *

As it turned out, no one but he and the trio suspected Draco to be conspiring against them, not seriously anyway.  
Harry heard the gossip in the halls—the attack on the school had spread like wildfire.  
Zabini would live, but it didn't sound like he was up for the dance tomorrow. He and Draco were victims of a brutal attack, and as soon as Malfoy was found, the identity of the ruler would be revealed.

Harry doubted that.  
If the evidence proved well-founded, a certain Slytherin wouldn't be spilling the details anytime soon.

Hermione returned with Astoria after a couple hours of taking down the posters. It was the evening and dinner would begin soon, but neither of the girls looked like they could eat.  
He couldn't help but notice how nice Hermione had been towards her. Maybe on some subconscious level she related to the younger girl. Sure, she and Ron had finally gotten their 'happily ever after', but it hadn't come without a fight.  
Harry remembered how many times Ron had either deliberately or intentionally hurt her out of cluelessness and jealousy.

Ron caught up with her and grabbed her by the hand.

"This is the part where I apologize, right?"

"For?"

"Being an ass?"

Hermione nodded, holding back a smile as Ron wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her closer, and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm sorry we lost him," Harry said, walking up to the happy couple. " _I_ lost him."

"I'm done looking too. There's no point in searching for someone who doesn't want to be found, now is there?"

Harry didn't answer, only nodded awkwardly. They hadn't exactly told her what they needed him for. She might be aware that he was a key witness, but as far as Astoria knew, Draco wasn't suspected of treason.

"I talked with Hermione—well, more like I talked _to_ Hermione—and maybe Malfoy just needs a break from me."

 _Did she just call him Malfoy?_

"You're dumping him?" Ron asked.

Astoria shrugged, but Harry saw she wasn't remotely indifferent about it. They all did.

"I guess I'll see what happens tomorrow."

She smiled at Hermione one last time before heading to the Great Hall.

"Astoria's really kind," Hermione told them. "She rambled a lot, but I don't think she noticed. I don't see how she's related to Daphne at all."

"Did she say anything about Malfoy?"

Hermione shook her head. "Only that _he didn't want to hurt anybody._ I don't think I've seen anyone talk about him like she does, but she's not stupid either. At least she knows when to leave."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Then why tear down his posters?"

"You really are dense."

Love does stupid things. It makes people stick around too long and remain loyal, even long after it's faded.  
But the problem was it hadn't faded. Draco was a wreck and Astoria couldn't be his savior, but the love was still there. Even Ron with his stupid questions could see it.  
Harry wasn't sure if he cared or not, but he knew that if Astoria dumped him, Draco really would have no one left.  
It angered him to think he could care. Not even three days ago had he and Draco been laughing and talking like old pals, but now…

" _I didn't spare your life so you could bleed to death."_

" _It's not that bad. If I try the spell again—_ oh for the love of _—Luna quit tugging!—okay fine! I'll go, happy now?"_

Harry recognized Neville and Draco's voices immediately.

Ron and Hermione had already left for the Great Hall.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey, like Neville, freaked when she saw his arm. If he had come to her sooner, then the fixing wouldn't have hurt as much, but now she was forced to pour in some random blue, sparkling liquid that was supposed to kill any infection that had spread.  
It stung like hell. Though, the effects were quick and the pain soon subsided.

Meanwhile Neville and Luna attempted to convince Draco he tell the trio the truth. He tried to explain that now wasn't the best time. Even with the entire world on his side, they still didn't trust him. Maybe for a while they had begun to, but today had ruined everything.

"You could've been good," Luna said. "The choice was slim, but it was still there, that's why they don't trust you—because you chose wrong. It doesn't mean you can't choose it now, but for that you have admit you did wrong or else you'll never get anywhere."

"What are you, some corny book of life?"

He tried to play it off as nonsense, but she was right. "I know I did wrong. I knew it while I did it and now still."

Draco, realizing he was oversharing, stopped. Yet, neither Luna nor Neville looked off put. He continued, "I really believed there was no other choice—not one where I or my parents would live. What else do you want?"

"You should tell them that," Neville said. "Even If they know it, they'd rather hear it from you."

His only other option was to go back into hiding, and for once he was done being a coward. However, instincts kicked in when he saw Potter walk into the infirmary. He drew back the curtain.

"Not right now," he whispered to Neville and raised his bandaged arm "Not with _this_ happening. Give me until dinner tonight."

* * *

Neville wouldn't betray him. That sort of thing just couldn't happen. But then, why would he lie? Why wouldn't he _move_?

He thought of yelling for Madam Pomfrey, but she'd probably just kick him out anyway.

Luna and Neville.  
Neville and Luna.  
Both on the enemy's side. Had the world gone mad?  
Draco was there. All he needed was a little physical and not so gentle push, and his first case as an Auror would be solved.

He turned to Luna. "I just need the name," Harry said, as if speaking to a child. "Give me five minutes with him, I know I can—"

"I already told you, he's not here."

"Merlin's beard, Neville—we'll all freeze! Have some sense!"

His lips pursed, but Neville didn't budge just yet. "I'm sure Draco will be at dinner in a few minutes."

It was a game.  
Harry knew he was there, and Neville knew he knew. The only problem was he trusted Neville and understood there had to be a logical reason for this madness.  
Maybe Harry knowing would put them all in danger? Just for a second, he saw the face of a first year—one only too eager to protect Gryffindor and his friends at all costs.

He did his best to keep himself from ripping open the curtain. "Okay. Great. When you see him tell him it's important—life threatening even."

He began to walk away, but stopped, and turned to face the quite curtain.  
"Oh and if he doesn't show up to the ball tomorrow, Astoria is dumping him."

* * *

In the Great Hall, Harry told Ron and Hermione everything.

"They're not betraying us," Hermione said simply. "Something else…maybe we're wrong about him."

Ron agreed, then shook his head. "Why hide then?"

"Why not ask him?" Harry said. "He's coming this way."

Following closely behind Neville and Luna, Draco Malfoy attracted the stares of everyone in the hall. Even more so when he sat down with Neville and Luna at the Gryffindor table.

"I came to talk," Draco said bravely.

It hadn't taken that much convincing. A couple seconds after the arm had fully healed; a new sense of courage had come bursting forth. While the ominous shape of the death mark remained, Draco knew the sting didn't have to.  
Unlike the trio, Neville and Luna did know everything, yet they were still here.

Harry eyed Neville and Luna as they sat at on opposite sides of Draco. Nothing about this seemed forced.

"Great," Hermione said, attempting to lighten the dark cloud slowly wrapping around the table. "let's hear it then."

If Draco was mad about the slap, he didn't show it.

Harry wasn't letting his guard down just yet. However, he listened to what Malfoy had to say, occasionally sharing side glances with Ron and Hermione.

Yes, Malfoy confessed, but it wasn't the confession Harry had planned on hearing. He began talking about the posters—the day it all happened and why he'd done it. Draco felt there hadn't been an alternative.  
Draco didn't hold back or tried to justify his actions. He'd occasionally flinch at a memory, but nothing about his straight, calm posture gave away emotion.  
"I was wrong. I know that now, and I'm sorry."

Ron kept glanced between Luna and Neville, more in disbelief than anything else. Hermione was wide eyed, but Harry saw she'd heard it all before. Harry had noticed the name _Draco_ didn't have the earlier reaction ever since her chat with Astoria.

Harry didn't know how he felt about it until the words spilled out, fast and cold.  
It was one of those quick contemplations where you know you'll regret it later, but he couldn't help it. Since this morning it was all he could think about. The words swirled in his brain, like a spoon stirring up the anger the more he meditated on them.  
A mockery—complete betrayal.

" _I've always known._ Is that true?"

"What?"

"The thing you said. You've always known who the ruler is, right?"

Draco bit his lip and nodded slowly. He was about to open his mouth to say something else, but Harry stopped him.

"Then no."

"No what?"

" _No."_ Harry slammed his fist on the table and heads turned their way. "No to all of it. Why would you think I want to hear this? You knew who he was the whole time and you let me run around like an idiot!"

"Potter—"

"No," Harry said a bit quieter. It didn't matter now. The hall had gone completely silent. Even their most minimal whispers could be heard now. "If you want me forgive your deceitful, idiotic attempts at 'changing', tell me who the bloody ruler is, now, Malfoy."

All eyes—even the teachers'—were on Draco, awaiting his reply. The air was thick with tension; students sitting on the edge of their seat while some younger ones standing. The ghosts had stopped hovering and if there were any paintings, they probably would've froze too.  
Draco stopped looking at everyone and instead looked at Neville and Luna. Neither had expected this to turn into a spectacle.  
The words tried to rip through his throat. Draco wanted to tell them, but not like this.

"Why are you hiding them?" Hermione coaxed, her voice much softer than Harry's, something for which he was glad.

"I'm sorry," Draco said quietly. "I can't.

"You won't," Ron corrected. "Big difference."

This time the booing crowds didn't affect him. No—this time Luna and Neville walked close behind him, and the noises soon stopped. People wouldn't dare mock the war heroes.

"I should write a book," Draco said, holding back a smile. "How to become public enemy number one."

Only Neville was alarmed when he broke out into full fits of hysteric, grief-ridden laughter in the hall.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm not sure what to say so...  
Reply time:  
 _GryffindorJess: Thank you! I'm obsessed with him too (as you can tell). I have no idea. It is coming to a close soon, so I think 5 more chapters at most. Maybe less. And...I just updated lol. Can only immediately answer user questions, sorry._**

 **Have a good week! And I'll try to update soon :)  
**

 **-Lauralydney**


	13. Chilled Legacy XIII

**A/N:  
Sorry for the wait.  
Half dead as I type this tbh (school).  
Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **-Lauralydney**

 **P.S: As you all know, this is a Frozen/HP crossover (duh). Though I don't actually include any of the frozen characters (duh again), there are-especially in this chapter-several references to Frozen's symbolism. I just feel there were many things in Frozen that could've aided the plot that weren't used (also a bit more explanation of the origin of the powers/curse would've been nice) so I am purposely using them here.**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy XIII**

It was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine.

Was it possible to actually die of laughter? After what must've been minute four of laughing without cease, Luna had finally begun to look concerned. Luckily it began to die down, mostly because it was starting to hurt.

Neville began to talk strategy—he and Luna would confront the trio separately and talk some sense into them—but Draco cut it short.

"It's okay. I can stop the curse without them. I'm quite close, all I need is to crack the code from this enchanted book and bang, I'm free. The golden heroes can go to hell."

They turned the corner. Draco noticed Luna and Neville shared a glance, but he ignored it, realizing he didn't give a damn what they thought of his new plan—or what anyone thought of anything for that matter.

"Are you alright?" Neville asked, eyeing his smiling face warily.

"Great," Draco said. "Never better."

"What happened in there," Neville continued, ignoring his reply, "I never thought it would turn out that way, but it's not the end. Harry can be thick, but if we just give him some time to cool off I know we can do this as a team."

"A team," Draco repeated, holding back more laughter.

"Don't do that," Luna said. "Shutting everybody out again won't get us anywhere."

"Ever heard the term 'mind your own damn business?'"

Even through the venomous reply, Draco knew she was right. It's exactly what he was doing. He was shutting the trio out for good. Maybe they were the only people he intended to slam the door on, but doors were swinging left and right as he watched a wall build between him and everyone he'd begun to open up to—Luna, Neville, McGonagall, even Astoria.

It's not like they were doing it—if anything Luna and Neville were the nicest people he'd ever met. He just couldn't bring himself to trust they could forgive him anymore. There was no urgency to make the distancing stop, he just let it happen and embraced the solitude.

Draco led them to the room of requirements.  
After all, it wasn't the mission's secrets that he was afraid to share.

* * *

"All I'm saying is you can be scary when you want to be," Ron said.

"Or don't want to be," Hermione added.

Harry sighed, feeling useless.

Hermione rested a hand on Ron's shoulder. "I just can't shake the feeling. Did you see his face? He wanted to say who the ruler was. Maybe if you'd given him a less—er—savage approach," Hermione began. She wasn't even close to done with the lecture when Ron started laughing.

"I saw his face alright. Pathetic. Really thought we'd buy the sob story."

"It wasn't a sob story," Hermione argued. "If it was, none of us would've listened…it was an apology."

"You never did warm up to him," Harry said. "Not even after the Fiendfyre."

"For a second I thought you had," Ron said. Guilt only crossed his face for a moment.

No one felt as guilty as Harry did though.

The entire mission had rested on Malfoy giving them the name, and unless someone conjured up a truth potion right quick, there was no way they were getting it now. It wasn't the first time he'd let his emotions get in the way. He lost count of how many times he'd yelled at the wrong people—his best friends included.  
Though, that wasn't the only thing he felt guilty about. It would be stupid to try to lie at this point. All three of them had started to warm up to Draco, and never in a million years had he expected to hear an apology, let alone imagine himself reacting the way he did.

The minute Draco had left the table was the minute the sound of his own voice had echoed back at him.  
Had he really been so cold?

Draco had done shitty things, and he didn't deserve the second chance he was looking for—no one ever does.  
Harry had the chance to show him mercy, but instead ridiculed his sincerity.  
Who was he, a saint? Wasn't the point of all this that they were all imperfect people who needed mercy?  
And here he was, slamming that door on Draco's face—as if using himself as an example of how rotten humans could really be. Quick to forget the good and eager to focus on their pride.

Harry snapped out of the train wreck of thoughts, and instead wondered if the way back to the common room had always been so long.

A small figure spotted them as they turned the corner. "And it's about to get way longer," he mumbled.

"There you are," Astoria said mostly to Hermione. She walked up to them, a haunting look on her face. "By any chance did anything…strange happen in the last hour?"

The trio exchanged a look. "Strange how?"

She didn't answer right away, thinking about how to word it. "In what state was Draco exactly when you found him?"

No one said anything.

"I just saw him walk out of the room of hidden things with Luna and Neville," Astoria continued, beginning to nervously twirl her hair. Whatever she had seen it can't have been good. "He was carrying a bunch of random documents and…"

"Go on," Hermione said reassuringly.

No, they weren't ones to gossip, Harry thought, _but I'll gladly stomp on Draco's head when he's reaching for a hand getting up._

"He was laughing in a sort of—you could say—alarming manner and carrying an even more alarming amount Trelawney's sherry bottles with him…chugging one down as they walked."

"Luna and Neville—wait—they're just following him?!" Hermione asked.

"Trelawney hides Sherry? Where?" Ron asked.

Astoria nodded, ignoring Ron. "I thought I'd find you before making any sudden moves. I've never seen him looks so insane. The posters must've really gotten to him."

 _Right, the posters._

"Where were they headed?" Harry asked.

Astoria described the location—two lefts, up the stairs, to the right—perplexed as to where they could've gone.

"Music room," Ron said. "It's well hidden, but it's there."

"Hogwarts has a music room?"

* * *

Back in fourth year Draco had snuck plenty of liquor bottles from his parents' cellar. He was the one in charge of drinks at every end of summer party, partly because he had more money than he knew what to do with, but also because Crabbe and Goyle—who couldn't tell one end of a broomstick from the other—always got caught in the act.

Even so, he'd never partaken in the madness that followed the celebration. The furthest he'd ever gotten was experiencing lightheadedness and maybe slightly blurred vision.  
But damn was the room spinning.  
Or maybe it was him.

He hadn't actually eaten anything today, and just the one bottle was all it took.

Draco felt the gush of reckless speed of ridding his broom upside down.

They'd only just started to look over the riddle and he was finally acting stupid enough that Luna was able to take the bottle from him without Draco noticing. This hadn't been part of the plan—Draco honestly wanted to crack the code—but the more Neville told him not to do it, the more he had to.

"You're not my boss, Longbottom," he'd told him back at the room of requirements.

When Neville didn't reply, Draco snuck into his thoughts again.

 _No, but I am your friend._

This only caused him to grab more bottles.

Now that his tongue had loosened, occasional snippets of his own thoughts would slip, some more coherent than others, but none that he would remember tomorrow.

Draco laughed, the riddle reminding him of the prophecy. "Your kingdom will splinter—this land cursed by cold-ass winter. Who wrote this shit? Like all this fucking drama."

Neville held back a laugh as Draco sluggishly handed him the paper.

"A damn instruction book would've done the trick, eh?"

Luna slapped his hand away as he tried to reach for the bottle again.  
Draco, in return, attempted to remove his glove. Suddenly the idea of freezing that piano seemed _super_ fun.

"What are you doing?" Neville cautioned.

Luna and Neville, having reacted too slowly, were force to duck for cover as he blasted the piano across the room.

"Teach err to boss me around," Draco slurred. "I'm fucking royalty."

There was no menace in his voice. For that moment, when he saw the few flakes falling from the aftermath—most turning to water when they hit the ground—he felt like a small child on Christmas. Draco laughed innocently at Neville's horrified face.  
The laugh grew gradually, the tone changing from the musical echoes of wind chimes, to the sound of shattering glass.

"Can't be friends with a monster."

Draco laid on the floor, staring at the puddles. Soon, Luna and Neville continued their conversation and the dark feeling that had surrounded him for that moment faded, replaced by foggy thoughts again.

"Look at all this snow. Imagine if it was sand, but still cold, no wait, warm snow. I like the beach."

Neville and Luna ignored him and Draco placed the ungloved hand in a puddle, attempting to freeze it. As soon as he removed it, the ice turned to water again.  
Drunk magic was even less cooperative.

"Draco," Neville said. He looked at him and thought better of it. "Luna, I think I see what he meant by an alternative. Look here."

Luna read the line Neville was pointing to, _"has a frozen heart worth mining."_

"And here," Neville said.

" _Cut through the heart."_

"And here."

"Strike for love and strike for fear," Luna read, then paused. "You're right. Love wouldn't have anything to do with it, not if the way to end it is by killing him anyhow."

" _And_ fear—love and fear. That's two ways." Neville added, then kept reading. " _Break the frozen heart…There's beauty_ and _there's danger here…beware the frozen heart."_

" ' _And_ ' again," Luna said, smiling broadly. "Two ways to destroy the _frozen heart_ —while I'm not quite sure what that means—we just have to figure out the second."

"Symbolism everywhere," Draco half laughed. "But what if we just stick a warm pack on the chest area for a couple hours."

Again, he was ignored.

"You know who has a cold heart? Weasley. Maybe the stupid riddle is about him."

It didn't really feel like he was talking out loud. Draco felt in a dream, outside himself.

"I couldn't stand that idiot from the day I met him—probably even more than Potter. Had the nerve to mock my name when those gingers can't even afford the sand they walk on."

Luna and Neville weren't ignoring him anymore.

"Turns out he got presents and letters though," Draco went on, as if sharing a secret with portraits. "Not the type to show off to your friends like I got, ya know? Shiny stuff—the one's parents buy to show you and their money off in the same go. He got fucking sweaters and home-baked sweets."

Neville grabbed his hand as he made another attempt for the bottle. Draco tried to fight it, but there was no energy in him.

"Annoying ginger, jealous of my money."

Draco started laughing again as if he'd said the funniest thing in the world.  
"Jealous of my money," he repeated in between breaths. "I think that's when I started to hate him."

He was looking at the ceiling now, as if he were watching television. "His parents wouldn't have tried to send him away, and Potter wouldn't have fucked his girlfriend…then again, Granger wouldn't cheat on him either. They're a funny group. I stopped hating them, Ron too. I just hate myself now."

Luna gently placed the glove back on his hand. "It's okay. You don't have to talk now."

"I wanted real friends."

"Maybe we should continue another time," Neville suggested. "When he's sober—before he keeps talking."

"I'm so sober." Draco smiled dreamily at him. "You and blondie would make a cute couple. Don't you think so, Luna?"

"Too late."

* * *

Sometimes—rarely—when things don't go according to plan, it can be a good thing. Like when you kick a ball off the field and go to look for it, and instead stumble upon a treasure chest.  
For a moment Harry had though this was the case.

Because of his quickness to turn on Draco, he'd given him a nudge towards alcohol, the best truth potion there was. Maybe not the most moral method of extracting information, but for a moment it was working.  
The trio and Astoria hesitantly stayed back, hiding behind the open door. Harry could only somewhat peer in without his head being too noticeable, the others relying solely on hearing. Maybe it was for the best, especially for Astoria. Malfoy was a sad sight.  
They'd arrived just in time to hear Neville and Luna speak of the curse. Even Astoria's curiosity overpowered her instinct to go to drag her drunken boyfriend to Madam Pomfrey's.

 _A riddle? Where—what—when?_

Harry waited for one of them to say the name of the ruler, but the name never came.

Instead he was greeted with familiar insults at Ron—who he had to hold back from barging in and punching the drunk teen.

" _Shhhh._ You can hit him later," Hermione said, ignoring Astoria's warning look.

But any thought of hitting him disappeared.

" _I wanted real friends."_

It happened in seconds, but in his mind it lasted an eternity. Images of dodgeball games and picking partners in art class came to his mind. He was always the last one left standing. Everyone was too afraid to be seen with Big D's hated cousin.  
Harry had wanted real friends too.

It was an unexpected flashback. Maybe it was because drunk Draco sounded so young, almost like the child hiding in the wrong portrait hall back in the Manor. The voice was coated in childhood.

Harry felt like he'd just been punched in the gut, but there was no time to react to any of it. Luna and Neville began to lift Malfoy up, but he fought hard.

"No! Leave me here. I like this floor."

They shared a look and Neville shrugged.

"I'll go get a blanket," Luna said.

Neville nodded and began to pick up the bottles and scrolls. Harry noticed a book was left behind lying next to Draco.  
He'd have to go back for it later, after Luna and Neville left. Right now he had to hide.  
They shuffled to the nearest door—a broom closet—and hid there until the echoing footsteps disappeared.

By the time they got to the room, Draco and the book were gone.

* * *

It was true that everything was off—the spinning ceiling, the dizzying lights and, and amusing sounds.  
However, Draco had a vague idea of what was going on—they were looking through the records he found.  
That book had not been the records.

The cover wasn't a faded brown leather with crappy binding and yellowed pages. Yes, the cover was brown leather, but it shone. The pages weren't yellowed, they were a pearly white with firm—almost enchanted—grip on their binding. In the center was a funny looking symbol coated in a thin layer of gold and swirly blue and green patterns.  
It looked like an abstract rose with three petals.

Now, Draco had been over this. Last time he touched a fishy object he'd nearly been asphyxiated by rather angry wall with poisonous vines for hands. But then again, the object was shiny.  
Shiny things were good—especially when drunk.  
And touch it he did.

The real question now was not how to get that extra bottle from Neville, or how to help them help him while deliriously out of it, or even how to cure the massive hangover he would have tomorrow. No, the real question was—where the hell was he?  
One second there was a shiny flower, then a random gush of wind, followed by the familiar feeling of being dragged by the naval through a swirling endelessnes, and suddenly Draco was outside, crash landing in a bush.

 _A portkey. The flower was a bloody portkey._

He dragged himself to his feet, foggily taking in his surroundings.

Everything was green, there were a couple rocks, and nearby voices. Anything else was a blurr.  
Draco walked around, zoning in and out of full consciousness. One minute he was walking through the woods, then he'd tilt his head forward and suddenly he was somewhere in the inner city, with no recollection of walking. It happened a couple more times, and Draco began to panic. Who the hell knew the things he did in those blackout moments.

The book was closed around under his arm.  
He was dragged into a strange building and through a veil, the people around him holding wands. Draco didn't know whether to feel safe now that he was in the company of wizards or if he should begin to panic again.  
The people spoke in a strange tongue, but in all honesty it could've simply been English with a strange accent. Draco couldn't tell.

He zoned out again and awoke in the same room. A man spoke to him. He had an accent, but this was most definitely English, "I vill not kill you child, not in this state."

"Kill me?"

The man said something in that strange tongue to the others and Draco saw there were only two more. They nodded, but one didn't look convinced. Whatever had happened in the last few minutes, Draco knew it couldn't be good.

He didn't have time to ponder it because next time he zoned out he was in the music room.  
Voices were above him, but this time all familiar.  
Draco fell asleep, wondering just who else wished his death.

* * *

 **A/N: Have an awesome week!**

 **-lauralydney**


	14. Chilled Legacy XIV

**A/N: Hello!  
As stated previously in the last chapter : **_**this is a Frozen/HP crossover (duh). Though I don't actually include any of the frozen characters (duh again), there are-especially in this chapter-several references to Frozen's symbolism. I just feel there were many things in Frozen that could've aided the plot that weren't used (also a bit more explanation of the origin of the powers/curse would've been nice) so I am purposely using them here.  
**_ **This includes song lyrics used in the movie.**

 **Anyway, I was going to update when the next chapter was just about finished, but it's been a while, and the next chapter is half done. It shouldn't be too long a wait depending on how many assignments I have to finish. A week or so maybe?**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

 **-Lauralydney**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy XIV**

It was a small battle, but one he was determined to win.  
He'd failed at manipulating Potter.  
He'd failed a befriending Potter.  
He'd failed at keeping his powers a secret.  
And he'd failed at not being a failure.

The least he could do was go to the ball and be normal for one night. If that's all it took prove to Astoria that he somewhat cared about their relationship during his numb state, then the utter absurdity of mask shopping was worth it.  
Of course, that wasn't even the worst of it. Draco Malfoy couldn't simply show up to a ball and come out alive. For this reason, it wouldn't be Draco Malfoy attending the ball.

Their first stop was Galdrags Wizardwear. He Luna and Neville were greeted by the same gruff lady that had sold him the gloves. She gave one perplexed glance at his hands then looked out the glass door to verify that it was indeed sunny outside.  
Things became slightly more awkward when Draco asked for a second pair. These were rainwater blue and silky, fitting loosely in his hand.  
A brief image of them falling off and getting swept away by careless dancers entered his mind. Still, he bought them anyway. As long as he didn't start flailing his arms in the air like a falling bird, he'd be fine. Not the design he had in mind, but it was either that or neon pink.

"They match your eyes," Luna said approvingly. "And mine—we have the same eye and hair color, haven't you noticed?"

Draco looked at hers, then at the mirror. Luna's were brighter somehow, slightly silver. His looked more like faded concrete.

Draco smiled anyway. "Guess you could pass for my sister."

"I never did like being an only child," Luna said seriously. "We could be related somewhere along that pureblooded mess of a lineage, so maybe I am."

Draco laughed for the first time today and turned to the party section of the rack. "I only came to buy a mask, not adopt a sister. I don't share my toys, Lovegood."

He picked out a jet black mask that—apart from the eyes—covered everything but the mouth and a small part of the forehead. It was sharp around the edges, reminding him of a crow's beak.

Neville, who went with a simple golden mask that covered just the rims of his eyes, eyed Draco's mask strangely.

"What is it?"

"It's a bit dark. I thought you'd get the silver knight look. That's what most everyone with decent money is getting anyway."

"Dark is perfect."

Luna didn't get anything. She'd made her own mask weeks before the ball, and Draco was practicing the best polite reaction he could when he saw it on her tonight.  
He paid for Neville's mask, still feeling partially guilty for last night's disaster. Luna and Neville had to practically drag a corpse to the infirmary the next morning and convince every nosey interrogator that it was the flu.  
McGonagall didn't look like she bought it, but was too busy with last minute ball preparations to investigate further. Madam Pomfrey had been the wiser and gave him a potion to cure the hangover. Whether she told Slughorn or any of the other teachers wasn't clear yet. They'd left the castle not long after that. For all he knew, the teachers could be plotting a year's worth of detention while he stood here playing dress up with the silver duo.  
Everyone had been giving the group weird looks, but that probably wasn't attributed to last night.

He tried the mask on in front of the small mirror at the back of the shop, eyeing his slick, blond locks with disdain. This was step one. The mask did a great job at covering most of his features, but it wasn't enough.

It was still early when Draco bought the two vials J. Pippin's Potions.

"It seems like a waste of money," Neville kept saying.

"Well good thing I've got plenty to waste."

"She likes you for you—don't ask me why—what next, going to change your voice too?"

Both vials only had temporary effects. Even after all this, how could Neville and Luna think he could survive the ball as himself?  
The silvery substance that occasionally bubbled would turn Draco's hair a darker shade. For most, it turned black, but given his nearly white blond hair it might only reach a brown tone.

Either way, Draco knew it wasn't the temporary disguise that bothered the two, but rather what was in the second, transparent, and smokey scented potion.  
It wasn't just his appearance he would be changing tonight.

"Want to get something to eat? I still have some cash left."

"You can't change my opinion with food."

"Who said I was trying to?"

Neville's eyes scanned him, but Luna interrupted his train of thought.

"Well he can change mine. Three broomsticks?"

Maybe they were related.

The sat near the back, as far from the other students as possible. It felt like ages since he was here with Astoria. Back then, neither had anything to eat. He couldn't remember if whether had been hungry, or if they'd just been too absorbed in each other to notice.  
When going on dates with Pansy, Draco had been expected to buy the most expensive thing on the menu for both of them. Little was said on those undeniably loveless outings, with the exception of vague responses to Pansy's rambling chatter about how much she 'loved' him, fawning her eyes at him and taking occasional peeks at his wallet.  
It wasn't much different with his other friends. Draco had always known that if he stopped barfing up the galleons, they all would've left.

Luna and Neville didn't give him that tension and he found himself treating them to stuff for no good reason.  
Being with the golden trio had felt almost the same way, but deep down they were never able to trust him. In the end, that had won over and he'd been cast out.  
There were times when he'd find himself thinking about them again. Hermione had never gotten off his tail about how muggle music was _so_ much better. About five different songs from her favorite bands were constantly stuck in his head—not that he'd ever admit it to her if they were on speaking terms—and he desperately needed someone to talk about Quidditch with and crush at a game of chess.

Getting close to silver duo hadn't been easy either. Neville hadn't trusted him in the beginning, but he trusted Luna's judgement. That in and of itself didn't explain why he was being so kind to him. It was one thing to believe someone wouldn't attempt to murder you or try to freeze the school on purpose, but it was a completely different thing to be that person's friend.  
No payback.  
No punishment.  
Neville hadn't even expected the perfect apology, just genuine, guilty repentance.

Though Draco missed the golden trio and had unconsciously agreed to keep Luna and Neville distant, being with them like this just felt natural.  
While Luna and Neville dug into their meal, Draco noticed several of the students staring. He looked away and took a couple fries from Neville's plate.

"They're staring," Luna said.

"Huh, hadn't noticed."

She shook her head. "This is different. They look curios, like they're waiting for something."

He and Neville stopped fighting over the fries and gave a second glance at the onlookers.  
She was right, something was off.

"Maybe they're finally seeing the resemblance," Neville said.

"Call me Draco Lovegood one more time, Longbottom. I bloody dare you—"Draco shook his head, stealing another glance at the staring faces—"Let's recap, what exactly did I do yesterday?"

"Nothing. Like Luna said, we kept you in the music room."

"You're sure I didn't run naked through castle?"

Neville laughed once. "Do you remember running naked through the castle?"

No. Draco remembered a few things, but in all—thank God—he was wearing pants.  
One would think with the way Luna and Neville kept glancing at him when they thought he wasn't looking that he did just that.  
Like they'd seen him bare, stripped of everything everyone thought made him Draco Malfoy.

There was that, and the fact that he did remember running (again, not naked).  
Memories from last night's wild trip turned into unwelcome commercials interrupting his numbness.

Not all of it came back, but the majority did. Enough for him to know what his plan B really came down to. Those three wizards had been kind, but they knew what their job was at the end of the day.  
The moment it all went wrong they…

Draco put such thoughts out of his mind for now. He had to focus on the ball and on keeping a smile on Astoria's face for the night. Yet, the more he thought about that, the more he realized how maybe Luna and Neville were right.  
The whole thing was a sham. He couldn't just change his appearance and drink the Pars Perfectus potion and expect it all to be better.  
It was an expensive vial. For a couple hours, it would make him act different. Act like himself, but his better self. A bold, joyous party prince that everyone, including Astoria, would adore.

Deep down, he knew it was better if she left him. All he'd done was cause her pain and a girl like her deserved better. But Draco was selfish and needed this last chance. He didn't want to lose her. Not now.

Neville snapped his fingers in front of his face and Draco was back in reality.  
They sat there talking about the ball, but Draco wasn't really into it. He smiled and laughed, occasionally adding commentary, but he wasn't there.  
The more Luna and Neville talked, the more he wanted to be there.

"There are rumors McGonagall's having trouble with the band. If they don't show everyone will just leave," Luna said. "I don't see why. I dance fine without music. I have it in my head."

"Right. Who are you two going with anyway?"

"Each other," Neville said, then paused to organize his thoughts. "We're not a couple, just as friends. Just thought it would be easier, you know? Friends."

Draco laughed, unsure what had him so troubled. "Yes, okay. Any reason you emphasize the word 'friends'?"

"It's best if you don't remember."

"Probably. Honeydukes? I'll pay."

Luna, who was folding her napkin into a bird, glanced at him. "We do have money, Draco."

"You don't have to buy our friendship, mate."

Draco wasn't sure whether to smile or glare at the last comment. He looked away, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, "I was just being generous. Stop reading so much into everything."

What the hell had he said last night? It was sickening to watch them treating him like some fragile shard of glass they could just barely touch. He knew it would blow over eventually when the night's events were out of their heads.

He bit his lip and managed a smile. It stayed on his face until the trio entered the pub.

* * *

The book had proven to be completely useless and Harry was eager to be rid of the hissing faces from the random thumb-sized pictures yelling "mudblood!" and "blood traitor!" Every time he opened it.

While he hadn't the slightest clue as to why Draco had been lugging around his family records, after spending all last night trying countless silencing charms on the book, he didn't care anymore.

"In the back," Ron said.

Luna and Neville were with him. They smiled at the three while Draco's face remained expressionless.

"Hello Harry," Luna greeted. "Didn't sleep well?"

Before Harry could answer, Draco had spotted the book in his hand.

His eyes went wide. "Where did you get that?"

"I came to return it. I was lying around on the floor. Taking a wild guess that it's yours?"

The atmosphere changed around the Slytherin. He ripped the book out of Harry's hand. "Don't play dumb with me. It wasn't _lying around_ , I had it—you stole it!"

Draco was examining the book, frowning.

If by had it he meant he meant it was plopped next to his unconscious body, then Harry was indeed a thief.

Neville looked cautiously around the room then at Malfoy. "It's fine. It's back now, no harm done, right?"

It had been like Neville was looking for something rather than at someone. Harry couldn't quite describe it, but Neville had become afraid of the pub, as if waiting for it to collapse.

Draco unclenched his fists and nodded. His face looked more confused now than anything else as he flipped the book over again before stuffing it in his bag.

Hermione sat down and Ron and Harry followed hesitantly. If Draco was uncomfortable with the sudden intrusion he didn't show it. In fact, other than the small outburst, he didn't show much of anything.

"Can I help you?"

"About last night," Hermione said. "I realize we may have been harsh and _we_ apologize."

Ron brushed a strand of her hair back and looked away momentarily before he met Draco's gaze. "You saved us from the spell and we acted like jerks—which is your job. My girlfriend's right, we're sorry."

The whole 'we' thing was driving Harry mad. He was the one that was supposed to apologize, but he froze. Hermione noticed and started off without him. He looked at Draco, ready to say his part.

"I'm sorry. Can we start over?"

Draco blinked. The blond was right in front of Harry, but he looked to be ten feet away. He smiled, amused.

"You three," Draco said, standing up. His voice was coated with kindness, but it sent chills down Harry's spine. "If you wanted to know about the ruler, all you had to do was ask nicely."

Draco laughed, silencing Hermione's next comment. "Too bad I can't stay and chat now. I've got to get ready for the ball."

 _He thinks we're lying._

"Draco, wait," Harry said, grabbing his sleeve.  
His hand slid down and nearly pulled off his left glove. "Please, listen. I didn't mean what I said yesterday, okay?"

"Friends say stupid things all the time," Hermione added.

Draco fixed the glove, only momentarily off put and looked at Harry for one long, hard moment. He wanted it to be true. "Just drop it, Potter."

* * *

Harry slammed his head on the table.

Draco left. Luna and Neville stared back after him but didn't follow. Even they knew when someone needed to be left alone.  
They assured Harry he would come around, and Harry knew it was true. The anger was still fresh as was the pain.

After the war he'd had countless people to spend those long, hard months with. While it had taken time, he'd come back ready to deal with everyday situations. Draco's drunken speech yesterday made it clear he didn't have anyone to help him before he jumped into the ring, but Luna and Neville were slowly breaking through to him.

Given time, Malfoy would be ready too.

That is, if nothing else—like Harry's words in the cafeteria—slowed the process.

One thing was clear—he couldn't keep using him as a means to defeat the prophecy. Sure, it would be a million times easier if the blond cooperated, but it's not like he could force the ruler out of him. It wasn't right to use a person as a pawn to end the game. Harry knew. He'd been one himself.

Without knowing it, the man he'd admired most had been raising him as a pig for slaughter to defeat Voldemort. From the beginning, that's all he'd ever been—a piece of the prophecy.  
Things were crucial and he needed Malfoy to help, but not like this.  
Maybe he would've succumbed to using force again had he not trusted Luna and Neville's judgement more than his own.

It's not like they were keeping him completely in the dark. They began to talk about last night—things they didn't know Harry had already heard. There were two ways to defeat the ruler. Apparently Malfoy had found a book containing a riddle.  
Neville handed the paper to Harry, letting him examine it. Luna had underlined a couple words pertaining to the second option.

 _Born of cold and winter air_

 _And mountain rain combining_

 _This icy force_ _both foul and fair_

 _Has a frozen_ _heart worth mining_

 _Cut through the heart, cold and clear_

 _Strike for love and strike for fear_

 _See the beauty sharp and sheer_

 _Split the ice apart_

 _And_ _break the frozen heart_

 _Beautiful, powerful, dangerous, cold_

 _Ice has a magic can't be controlled_

 _Stronger than one, stronger than ten_

 _Stronger than a hundred men_

 _Cut through the heart, cold and clear_

 _Strike for love and strike for fear_

 _There's beauty and there's danger here_

 _Split the ice apart_

 _Beware the frozen heart_

There were a lot of 'ands' in the riddle, but he'd never been much good at symbolism. Harry shook his head and handed the paper to Ron who immediately handed it to Hermione.

"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione said after only a few seconds of examination. "There are only two ways to destroy ice—breaking it into powder, also known as killing the ruler."

She waited for someone to say the second. When no one did, she continued. "And melting it."

"So we set the ruler on fire?"

"Ron, darling, that would also kill him," Hermione said. "Think. This is basic symbolism. A frozen heart is a heart that's…well, frozen. It has a layer of ice. It's the same thing as a cold hearted person—someone with layers that conceal the inside. I wouldn't be surprised if it worked similarly to obscurial magic—uncontrollable and reliant on emotions.  
"It's a wild guess, but what if the curse is emotional? Like, maybe the powers don't become a curse until the person makes them one, just like an obscurial."

"If I wouldn't get shanked in the face by Ron, I could kiss you," Harry said.

Hermione smiled brightly. She never did cease to amaze him. He couldn't tell which eyes were wider Neville's, or Luna's.

A group of Gryffindor girls passed by the table, whispering excitedly. _"A total brute. I might've called in the headmistress if it hadn't been Malfoy."_

" _A cane to the face. Ha!"_

The group exchanged a look before Luna and Neville bolted for the castle.

* * *

Moaning Myrtle looked pleased to see him. Needless to say, Draco did not. Apparently when she realized he wasn't going to beg her for forgiveness and had reasoned to simply ditch her, that drove her to worship his attention more than ever.

It didn't matter. Draco only needed the bathroom, not her. It was the closest place to hide and change for the ball after the disaster of the day.  
He should've known something was off. The whispers and the distant stares had been about him after all. Now he was left to fix his bloodied forehead hours before the dance.

He examined the damage in the mirror before aiming wand over the finger-sized cut just above the left eyebrow. One centimeter lower and he would've lost an eye—that damage he had no idea how to repair.  
Draco's eyes were darker than usual. He didn't know how to explain it, but the warning feeling had taken form upon looking at his own reflection. Something was snapping.  
The voice he'd heard when he first acquired his powers was back, swirling around him in muffled whispers. He was muffling it.

If there was anything he learned from his research about curses and prophecies was that he wasn't crazy. Dark magic—especially curses—could at times come alive and acquire a voice.  
So Draco silenced it. He wasn't going to let it control him, even if the falling snow around him told a different story.

Taking a deep breath, he spoke to Myrtle, breaking the silent treatment he'd been giving her since his arrival.

"Talk to me about something."

Her eyes lit up and she floated closer. "What? About what?"

"Anything."

He needed to concentrate on something other than his pounding chest. Last time it had been his arm, Draco couldn't risk a mistake like that on his face. He had to get his heart rate and shaking hands under control.

"What happened?"

Myrtle was officially useless.

"No, don't ask questions. Tell me about the castle. You've been here a while, there are bound to be some interesting stories somewhere in that hollow head of yours."

Myrtle winced, but did as she was told. As expected, she talked about her favorite day—the day she died. Somehow, that calmed him down enough to perform the spell.  
Draco turned the faucet and washed the blood off his face.

"What happened?" she asked again.

He eyed the bathroom warily. Snow covered the entire floor and more continued falling. His body was still shaking—not from the cold or the anxiety. Draco was seeing red.  
The fury wasn't leaving him, and like the rest of his body his voice shook as he lied about how he felt.

"My parents were called in. Mother was reasonably upset, especially when they told her about the Fiendfyre. Madam Pomfrey blabbed to Slughorn and now they think I'm a drunkard. …Father lost his temper momentarily. It was an accident—a reflex more than anything. They're under a lot of stress, I'm sure. My grades didn't help either."

Myrtle smiled, glad he was confiding in her again. But in truth, Draco wasn't. He was reassuring himself that it was an accident. Maybe that would make his heaving breaths stop. Sure, his dad had hit him with the cane before, but never in the face. Both parents looked more shocked than he and Slughorn combined, but Draco didn't look back when they called after him.

He shook his head, the flakes resting atop it falling to the foot tall pile bellow. It was snowing harder and he needed to make it stop—the feeling in his chest. The anxiety was getting bad, but there was something else. It was like someone was gently guiding him towards the edge of the astronomy tower.  
It was himself.  
Draco was snapping.

Something inside him—maybe the voice—was coaxing him to use his powers. He knew the lands cursed by the rulers weren't anything like the simple snowy mornings and night that plagued Hogwarts. _Your land shall be cursed with never ending winter._  
So far everything he'd frozen had managed to melt on its own, but Draco knew that once he reached that edge things would be radically different.

"Screw them," Draco said.

Myrtle raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift in tone as the anger final spilled out of him. His mind wasn't picturing only his parents.

" _Screw them all!"_

The mirror in front of him shattered. For a moment, he didn't understand what had happened or when his fist collided with the glass.

Raising the silver vile to his lips, he drank, the effects kicking in almost immediately. The room melted, soaking his socks and the inside of his shoes. It didn't matter since he was about to change anyway.  
The teachers and his parents would be looking everywhere for Draco Malfoy. Too bad he wasn't here.  
Let the party begin.

* * *

 **A/N: Have an awesome week!**

 **P.S: March 7 was the anniversary of this fic! It's been a year and I'm still not done with it...AAAAH.**  
 **Happy late my-fic day.**


	15. Chilled Legacy XV: The Ball Part 1

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the late update! It's been like 26 days. Lots of things happened: I wrote this chapter from the end to the beginning and procrastinated with a oneshot.  
The chapter I was originally going to post was twice as long, but it actually got too long, so I'll post the other sometime this week when that half is edited (probably). So basically, the next update wont take me a month.  
Thank you so much for the encouraging reviews, they means so much, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **-Lauralydney**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy XV**

"Ron, close your mouth. You'll catch flies."

Hermione's dress was an eggshell white, reaching just above her knees, embroidered with a black forest pattern on the side and a black sash tied around the middle. Her mask covered only the single eye and matched the pattern on the dress. She reminded Harry of some extravagant porcelain doll from the dark winter forest collection, especially with the white rose entwined in her purposefully messy hair.

While she looked beautiful, Hermione didn't particularly stand out. This ball was comprised of colorful gowns, each like something out of old, forgettable Victorian film. Even the men dressed in colorful dress robes, Harry's a dark silver, matching his last minute mask. Ron's were completely white, coordinating perfectly with his date. It made his red hair stand out like a bright orange flame.

Hermione ruffled it, and Harry noticed she wore a sort of glove with the same black forest pattern, covering everything but her fingers. It was almost like a fancy shield of silk armor.  
She closed Ron's gaping mouth by kissing him slowly.

Harry coughed. "Shall we go then?"

It was times like these that he missed Ginny the most. He wasn't a fan of balls, but if she were here, maybe the whole thing wouldn't seem so ridiculous. Harry never did have the chance to dance with her in any of Hogwarts balls—not that either of them were good at dancing, but if he was going to look like an idiot, he may as well do it with Ginny.

The only word to describe the Great Hall was _wow_.  
The starry night celling was cloudless without a snowflake in sight, the moonlight glow more powerful than ever, reflecting on the sparkling streamers which gradually changed color ever other minute. Light danced off the walls and on the faces of the shimmering ball gowns and masks.  
Everything felt alive, as if the walls themselves were radiating gold. Somehow all this light wasn't too much, but just perfect. It made Harry want to dance—that is if his common sense suddenly left him and if the music wasn't so torturously slow.

All the dances started off this way. It wasn't until an hour into the party that the actual band arrived and everyone—including Ron and Harry—joined people on the dance floor. For now it was couples only while the staff played some old instruments and the majority lounged around the snack tables.

Harry spotted Luna and Neville slow dancing near the middle of the floor and grinned. Hannah Abbott was glaring daggers at the couple, something quite unlike her. Neville truly was clueless. Everyone knew she'd had a thing for him since the D.A had started training.

Next, he saw Astoria. To his embarrassment, his jaw dropped slightly. Given his infatuation with Ginny, the fact that he'd mainly encountered her in the worst of occasions while she wore plain black robes with her hair tied tightly back, Harry had never taken notice of how beautiful the younger slytherin was.

Her dark, wine purple dress and matching lips brought out her fair skin and honey brown hair. Maybe she wasn't traffic stopping like her sister, her short stature hardly aided by the hidden heels under her ridiculously long dress, but she had caught the eye of more than one lone dancer in the room.  
Still, no one approached her.  
Though she made them look twice, Astoria had never looked worse.  
Her eyes weren't wide, curious, or twinkling like usual. They danced around the room in search of something more, partially dead, and partially on the verge of tears that Harry knew she wouldn't let fall. Not here anyway. While Harry was sure her lips looked tempting to any number of boys in the room, no one wanted to kiss a frowning face.

Ron and Hermione took notice of where he was staring.

"You should ask her to dance," Hermione said. "It would take her mind off things."

While he wasn't fond of the idea—mainly because he was sure Astoria hated his guts—Harry nodded, reluctantly, not wanting to appear heartless.

Hermione stopped him, grabbing his shoulder. "Try to be sensitive. _Try_."

He sensed what she was thinking about: Cho.

Harry wasn't the best with girls—or anyone with evident emotion for that matter. He'd never received sympathy, comfort, or even a simple hug when he'd cry himself to sleep as a child, let alone as a teenager. The Dursleys had made sure of that. He'd seen Dudley receive plenty of attention for the smallest, most absurd tantrums, but even then Petunia had treated her son more like a whining puppy than an actual grieving person. This was probably because Dudley wasn't actually grieving, and in some ways, he had resembled a dog. After he got what he wanted, the tears stopped.

He hadn't the faintest clue how to handle people crying, so he and Cho hadn't exactly hit it off after she started sobbing in front of him.  
Ginny wasn't they crying type. She showed her pain through anger, something Harry could relate to. He was emotionally useless. Of course, Astoria wasn't crying, but she looked devastated nonetheless.

Astoria only looked up when he was a foot in front of her.

"Greengrass," he greeted, confused as to why he hadn't used her first name. Did he ever talk to any slytherins using their first name?

Harry only felt more stupid when she raised an eyebrow and said, "Harry…"

"Care to dance?"

"You dance?"

"Not really."

Astoria smiled slightly and looked around the room again. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Is that a no?" Harry asked, hoping it was.

She sighed and grabbed his hand. "No, but it's not a yes either."

When minute 2 struck, Astoria's mood had already begun to lighten, mainly because Harry was a terrible dancer.

" _Ow."_

"Sorry."

"Stop looking at your feet, look at me. Merlin, people are staring."

And people were. Harry wasn't sure if it was due to the fact that Astoria was finally smiling, or because he was writing his own death sentence by dancing with Draco's girl. "I am the chosen one."

"I don't think that's it— _Ow—_ too late, you already missed the spin. Seriously, why on earth did you think this was a good idea?"

Harry was glad she wasn't as upset as Parvati had been when their dance turned out to be a train wreck. Astoria found his awful attempts at matching her pace hilarious, instantly making her forget her sadness, even if just for that brief moment. She seemed like the type of person that didn't hold high expectations for anybody—that or she didn't care—and for that reason Harry told her the truth.

"I didn't, Hermione did."

She nodded, "always thinking, isn't she? Oh wow, you actually did it right— _uff_ , spoke too soon."

Harry and Astoria laughed as he picked her up 3 seconds too late and nearly dropped her in the finishing move.

"How peculiar, usually if you glare back people stop staring."

"Doesn't work on me. Just make them stare harder."

Her face softened. "That must be hard."

"Mind if I cut in?"

A student dressed in all black approached the pair, arm in arm with Hannah. At first, Harry could've sworn the voice sounded like Draco's, especially after Astoria's head did the fastest 90-degree turn he'd ever seen, but that was impossible.

Malfoy's eyes were unmistakable—pale, rainwater blue. These were a frighteningly vivid darker blue tinged with a foggy, purple quality, not to mention the visible hair was an intense brown color. Still, he could've passed those off as a spell, especially the strange alluring eyes, but the voice didn't sound like it belonged to him.  
It was so full of _life._

Astoria blinked rapidly, peeling off her gaze from his stare. "I'd mind if you didn't," she said, giving Harry one last smile. "Thank you."

"Any time you want me to step on your feet, I'm there," Harry replied, taking Hannah's hand, forcing his eyes away too. The effect lingered. Instantly, he felt bubblier, like he'd just drank a mixture of champagne and a fizzing energy potion.

Harry danced more avidly with Hannah, who too looked like he felt. "Who was that?"

Hannah shook her head. Her smile was so bright, one would never have thought her upset mere moments ago. There wasn't a trace of past memories in her eyes. After a few missed steps, Hannah switched partners again and Harry joined Ron and Hermione at the snack table.

They were panting like him.

"How did it go?"

"Great," Harry said, deciding he quite liked Astoria. Her kindness and concern, even when she herself was distressed, had felt genuine. "Any sign of him?"

"None," Ron said. "The teachers and his parents are still looking, I suppose—Flitwick and Slughorn aren't here."

"Luna and Neville are," Harry noted. "They don't seem the least bit concerned."

"I already tried asking them. All they said was that _he's fine._ They wouldn't even budge when I told them his parents were worried sick!"

"Then Malfoy shouldn't've canned him," Ron argued. "Seemed real worried to me."

Neither Hermione nor Harry answered.

"Have they asked Myrtle?" Harry asked after the long pause.

"Astoria and I did while you and Ron were searching the tower," Hermione said, shaking her head. "She said he was headed to the ball, but that was it. You could try asking her. She listens to you."

"That's not possible, is it? I mean, that was hours ago. He'd be here by now. They'd have recognized him at the entrance, even with a mask."

Then, something clicked inside his brain. "Unless…" Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, not sure how to word what he just saw. Not finding the words, he settled for, "either who I saw wasn't Draco, or there is such a thing as fairy godmothers."

* * *

Astoria would never cheat on him. That was a black and white truth.  
But that didn't make Draco feel any less jealous when guys approached her. Lucky for him, she found it more adorable than anything else, and would trump his attempts at arguing by looking deep into his eyes, rendering him speechless. It was like a mirror with a twinkling sign spelling out _'you're an idiot'_ in big, bright letters every time he looked into it.

This Draco, However, felt no jealousy at seeing his girlfriend dance with the golden boy. This Draco couldn't feel jealousy, or anger, or sadness, or anything that wasn't bubbly. Maybe he would feel jealous when the potion wore off, especially since Astoria was more than mesmerized by this Not-Draco dancing with her.  
It wasn't her fault—she and everyone that looked into those shifting purple-blue eyes was hypnotized to fall into a party-like trance, one where he was their source for joy and energy. The spell was originally used by the host of a bash to keep the guests loving every minute of it. It worked just as well on a random student at a Hogwarts ball.

For him, the effects were slightly different. He wasn't just the life of the party—he _was_ the party. Life surged through his ligaments, bones, and tendons, giving Draco the confidence he needed to wrestle a dragon.  
He was on top of the world and everyone was a string puppet wrapped around his fingers. If tainted with, the potion could cause catastrophic damage, leaving him to command arguably large groups of people off cliff edges.  
Lucky for them, all the potion made Draco want to do was ensure the party lived.

Even with him there, it was slowly dying.

The dull waltz was just barely scrapping the surface of tolerable. It had been almost two hours since the repetitive dance and dull music had started playing. The steps were child's play—it was beyond him how Potter had managed to miss every beat of the song. He would've smirked at the sight, but the new Draco couldn't smirk, only throw heart-stopping smiles and laugh.

"Can we stop?" Astoria asked breathlessly.

"As you wish, milady." Draco slowly walked her to the snack table, her eyes remaining on him the whole time.

The downside of not feeling like himself was not fully being able to admire how breathtaking Astoria looked tonight. She'd turned into one of the dozens of guests he only felt one desire towards—keeping them happy.

That's when he first noticed the distinction breathing beneath the surface. The real Draco was still in there. The potion hadn't changed him, but rather created a false replica that controlled his every word and move, much like the effects of the Felix Felicis.  
He'd been too passive to notice, but now that she was here and the potion wanted to guide him elsewhere, Draco began to fight it. Where Not-Draco wanted to take him, he wasn't sure. The act of rebellion had gained him his silence.

 _Astoria! I want to stay and talk to Astoria!_

Draco looked at the growing numbers around the snack table. Groups had begun to leave the party and the dance floor looked more and more like the red area during a game of couch cushion lava.  
Not-Draco had to save the party, and he was dragging Draco along with him.

"Where are you going? Who are you anyway?"

Not-Draco turned to face her momentarily, gently grabbed her hand and removed his mask.

Her jaw hung open. Confusion, realization, more confusion, and finally what might've been anger flashed through her features before she had a chance to blink. Not-Draco looked deeply into her eyes and kissed her hand, the spell leaving her smiling and bubbly once again.

"Dray," she said, reaching for his face.

Draco saw she was trying to fight it behind that dreamy façade, just like him. Not-Draco stared harder, forcing the happiness down her throat.

His real self howled for help, but no sound left his lips. Astoria wasn't the string puppet here, nor was it the other guest.  
Draco had tied the strings around his own limbs.

* * *

 **A/N: Like I said, short chapter. Not much happened, but without spoiling anything I will tell you this: Sh#t goes down next chapter.  
Until then, I leave you with that.  
Have an awesome week!**

 **-Lauralydney**


	16. Chilled Legacy XVI: The Ball Part 2

**A/N:** **I apologize in advance for how weird this chapter is. I honestly don't know what goes on in my brain, but this is what came out of it and...**

 **Anyway here's the chapter.**

 **P.S: I changed the tittle of the last chapter but the content is still the same.**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy XVI**

"Draco Malfoy?" she blinked, trying to tear her eyes away from his. Draco let her momentarily so the conversation could continue.

Taking a deep breath, he spoke, the effects of the potion pouring out of his voice. "Yes, it's me professor."

His voice was his, but it might as well not have been. McGonagall unconsciously resisted the effects, her head looking elsewhere to find another teacher. "We must find your parent's," she said doubtfully.  
His teacher was strong. She held her duties as headmistress and protector of the students to a higher standard than most. Even though she never particularly liked Draco, she'd been quick to come to his aid.  
The Draco created from the potion decided it would take more than just talking.

"No," Draco said, meeting her gaze again. "We shouldn't."

What was he up to?

Astoria was still back at the snack table chatting with the trio. Draco wanted to go back and fight the effects, but as of yet, he didn't have a good enough reason. It was much easier to let the potion do its thing and wait for it to wear off. Trying to control his body and voice drained too much out of him, making the distinction between the new Draco and himself more blurred.  
Maybe he was a string puppet, but so far he'd been a happy one. Blaise and Pansy couldn't recognize him, no one had sent a single glare his way, and everyone he encountered was left mesmerized by his company.

Still, Luna and Neville had been right—Astoria wasn't pleased with this new him. Draco settled for explaining it to her later. It was, after all, just for the ball.

He let himself be consumed by the potion once again, instantly drowning a wave of both peace and energy. When he saw the last traces of resistance leave her face, replaced by a startling, bubbly party smile, Draco spoke again. "These decorations turned out lovely. I can't imagine the trouble you must've went through to get this party together."

McGonagall looked around, as if seeing the shining lights for the first time. "It's good to give the students something to look forward to after what they've been through the last couple of month."

"Indeed! If only it weren't about to end so soon," he heard his voice say, watching her smile falter. "No band."

Draco's mind began to turn, putting the pieces of the plan together. He'd left Astoria when the party had begun to die. It as an involuntary movement which he still regretted. This was supposed to be their night, but the potion deemed the party's death more important.

Something snapped together in his brain and he saw Not-Draco's puzzle plan complete.

 _No!_

The wave of peace washed away and Draco fought for control, twisting and turning, but only managing to make Not-Draco's fingers twitch in response.

The effects were strong, but not strong enough for his common sense to fully leave him. All he could imagine was himself—blond, blue-eyed, and mask-less—attempting to wrestle this dark-haired, purple-eyed, perfect party freak he created.  
He had to win. There was no way that the potion was so strong as for him to lose his self-will. The real him would never—

"I could be your band."

If it were possible to suffocate while breathing, the real Draco was doing it. Every inch of him attempted to fight the potion, but Not-Draco had him pinned to the wall, snuffing out the air from his lungs. He had to keep the party alive. That was his mission and he would do anything to complete it.

* * *

The lights dimmed. The stage was just big enough to fit a single band and their instruments, but to Draco it looked enormous. It had been hours since he'd taken the potion and, like an hourglass, he could feel the grains just beginning to fall. Not-Draco still had a significant control over his every word and action, but just for a moment he was able to halt his footsteps and grab on to Potter who'd been following his every move since spotting him.

Draco was grabbing onto a slippery pole during the windstorm of the year, attempting to maintain his grip as the gusts of air pulled him towards his death. That's what it felt like anyway.  
To anyone else it probably just appeared to be a dark stranger cutting the circulation from Harry's wrist.

Harry cried out, Not-Draco pulled harder and Draco released. His feet involuntarily moved forward again. Draco was allowed one final glance back before blacking out to full party-prince mode. Granger and Weasley stared into his eyes while Potter examined his injured wrist. For a moment, Draco knew they saw his fear, but that quickly vanished as they dissolved into his purple eyes and all concern left them.

Then Draco left too, not returning until he was facing the full crowd in center stage. He has no recollection of physically stepping on. Everything Not-Draco did was stored in his memories, but it looked more like scenes from a movie than anything he actually lived through. Every time he regained control, a snowstorm threatened to explode out of his fingers. He wanted to get down, but at what cost?

His face heated up under the mask—partially from embarrassment, and partially from anger. He'd tried too hard to not let his powers control him, only to submit to the will of this fake self.

Draco realized it was too late to back out now. All eyes were on him, none shining with recognition, but that didn't make the humiliation any less potent. The audience exchanged murmurs and he began to shrink back inside himself letting the impostor take over. With any luck, this would be over soon and he'd slip out without anyone ever knowing it was him under the mask.  
The decision was possibly the only wise one he'd made today.  
The air smelled of sweat (either his own or the dancers) mixed with magic mist beginning to pour out of somewhere near the back of the stage. He could hear the classical music begin to die down and McGonagall's voice echoing through the room as she announced the band's replacement, leaving out his name like Not-Draco had asked. At least this other self had some logic—if everyone knew it was Draco Malfoy on the stage they'd leave by the multitudes.

When he felt the temperature begin to change, he let Not-Draco take full control—that was, after all, why he'd taken the potion in the first place, right? To avoid freezing anything out of momentary anxiety. If he tried to regain control now that the potion was becoming slightly manageable, things could get much worse much faster.

Before he'd only slightly given in to the effects, but if he planned to get through his without lasting future trauma, Draco had to cave completely.

Suddenly the room came alive again. Why had he been so stupid? Everything was so much brighter and dream-like through his new eyes. A gust of reckless joy swept through him, placing the bright smile he'd lost back in its place.  
All thoughts organized themselves in his brain, something the real Draco couldn't have pulled off.  
The exact spells he needed to cast for the instruments to coincide with his mental beats—a mixture of wandless magic and legilimency—were simple charms he had lang mastered, but with everyone staring at him the real Draco wouldn't have been able to keep all the instruments playing at the same time for more than a couple minutes.

The crowd was amazed before melody had even left his lips yet.

 _They like me better than you._

Draco—hidden beneath several layers of magic—decided to ignore the thought as he continued to watch his other self work his body. He recognized the melody. Not-Draco had decided to start with wizarding songs a couple decades too old, speeding up the beat and giving it a more modern tone.

The elder wizards might've thought it an atrocity to their favorite classics, but the minute his voice echoed through the hall even the teachers were on their feet gaping.

" _The phoenix cried fat tears of pearl_

 _When the dragon snapped up his best girl,"_

Watching himself sing made all the difference. He could feel the vibrations of the notes passing through his throat—it was definitely his. But the voice was alien to him. It was rustic, low, and drawling like his usual sound, but it had a natural magnetism. The same, yet completely different.

" _And the Billywig forgot to twirl_

 _When his sweetheart left him cold,_

 _And the unicorn done lost his horn,_

 _And the Hippogriff feels all forlorn,_

 _'Cause their lady loves have upped and gawn, Or that's what I've been told."_

It wasn't until he reached the last verses that Draco switched his focus from Not-Draco to the crowd. Their eyes were hazy, completely under the potion, and more importantly, unaware of whose voice this was.  
There were a few exceptions—the trio, Luna and Neville, Astoria, McGonagall, and Slughorn—but they were too dumbed down to give him anything more than a slightly aware gaze.

 _Yes, love has set the beasts astir,_

 _The dang'rous and the meek concur,_

 _It's ruffled feathers, fleece, and fur,_

 _'Cause love drives all of us wild._

The crowd cheered, but the concert wasn't over. Not-Draco sang a few more modern versions of old wizarding songs and covers of the new. He didn't even notice the potion had mostly worn off when he reached a few of Hermione's favorite muggle classics.

Draco stood on the stage a couple more minutes, watching the crowd ease down. The after party would begin soon outside the Great Hall and the majority slowly began to leave. His system was only left with a small sense of magical buzz, just enough to keep a smile on his face and his legs from wobbling as he found the exit.

The lights came on and he stepped down.  
While most had scattered, Draco saw small groups coming towards him. The place was still crowded. With the potion gone, the party joy they carried shone with authenticity. He barely nodded in their direction before making his way towards Luna and Neville, the trio and Astoria following close behind.

Luna hugged him tightly. "It's you again!"

Draco hesitantly patted her back, baffled as to why that made her so happy. "The real one."

"You said you could sing—I mean it's not that I didn't believe it, but that was…wow."

Draco scoffed. "That wasn't me."

"Your eyes were my color for the final song," Luna noted, pulling away. He didn't show it, but it disappointed him. Other than Astoria, he couldn't remember the last time a friend hugged him, let alone a real one. It was both uncomfortable and warming.

His stomach was still doing backflips, and thinking about the concert wasn't helping the potion stay potent. Everything was rushing back the more the it wore off—the anger at his parents and the trio, anger that his plan had exploded in his face, anger that Harry had been able to make Astoria smile when he'd failed to even be himself around her, anger at all of it.

The worst part was the last.

"Draco," Neville said calmly, sensing his nerves. "I don't want you to panic, but we should get out quick. Your hair is changing back."

People began to take notice of him, a few running outside to spread the gossip of the mysterious singer's identity.

An icy blast tingled through the nerves of his fingers, but Draco took a deep breath and pulled a strand over his nose. The dark brown had gone from chestnut to dirty blond, and it was hastily fading lighter.  
While the party had died down, about twenty students and a couple teachers were still chatting about and dancing, occasionally giving him curious looks.

Like him, most everyone had come out of the trance, and it wouldn't be long before McGonagall made her way over here and realized what had happened. He didn't think he'd get any extra points for performing advance legilimency and saving the dance. Was it too late to move to switch to Durmstrang?  
Maybe the switch wouldn't be necessary after he explained that his only intention was to enjoy the ball with his girlfriend, and that he hadn't meant to create a party crazed monster that enchanted most of the school.  
Technically it was McGonagall's fault for failing to provide a band, but he decided to leave that part out.

The more he thought about everything that happened in the last five hours, the more his fists clenched. How could he have been so stupid? Potions came with warning labels, but Draco had ignored the tiny strip of paper. At what point this year had he gotten so careless?

All he wanted to do was leave and pretend this entire experience had been an alcohol induced dream—and alcohol didn't sound so bad right now—but here was Astoria Greengrass and the golden idiots holding up his exit.

Now that his eyes were clear, he could finally take in her beauty. It was a shame he was too blinded by rage this time to take much notice. Maybe if she'd grabbed his hand, stroked his cheek, or did anything besides glare at him he would've calmed down enough to form thoughts and apologize.

"Malfoy," she said. "We need to talk."

Draco winced, feeling like someone had twisted the knife the trio shoved in his back. He wasn't the only one taken aback by 'Malfoy'.

She had to have about a million and one reasons to be upset, all dating back to his secrecy and abandonment, but Draco knew it was too late for him to make all those wrongs right, not to mention he didn't _want_ to talk. The only way that could make anything okay with her was for him to tell her and the trio the truth.

Astoria and the world didn't need another reason to view him as a monster, and it was better if he stuck to his original plan of getting rid of the curse himself. Even if silence had turned into his loudest scream that only a few heard, he had to continue it. Draco would bite his tongue until it bled.

"Not now."

Her lips pursed. "We can talk outside," she said again, "but I'm done waiting."

"I'm not sure what just happened," Harry said, rubbing at his eyes. "But we all know that's not all your hiding. We don't want to fight, Draco. We're here to help you out of this—whatever it is you've gotten yourself into."

"I don't want your stupid help, move aside."

"You're being ridiculous!" Astoria hissed. "I can look past you completely ignoring me for a week and showing up like some possessed zombie and ruining the ball, but are you seriously stupid enough to make me continue on like this? I was worried sick! You disappeared into thin air with half the adults looking for you.  
"You manipulated me, not to mention the entire school and you won't even talk to me about it?"

While all this was said in growling whisper, it echoed loudly around the group. Hermione place a hand on Astoria's shoulder, warning her to change her tone before Draco bolted.

Luna did the same for Draco and he took a breath. There was a silence before he final said, "I'm waiting."

"What?"

"You're breaking up with me. Just say it already."

The group drew in their breaths. Astoria opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again after choking on her words. "Is that what you want?"

Draco removed the mask, feeling his eyes sting, but they remained dry. "It's what you want and…"

The anger left him, but at first he hadn't understood why. In a matter of seconds his mind had shut off as the last remaining effects of the potion subsided.

Draco couldn't feel anger, but could feel the pain in his chest as his heart began to race.

Had all eyes really just been on him moments ago? Had he really just broken up with Astoria? Where his parents really coming this way? He tried to inhale oxygen, but that didn't help the numbness in his fingers either. Everything and nothing was working in his mind, making him shiver through his hands sweating hands.

"Dray? Dray what's wrong?"

Her voice had softened significantly, but it was too late. Draco felt the area around them become colder, as did Harry. Potter looked around, suspecting his fear was the presence of the ruler, and Draco began to walk away.

Astoria tugged at his robe.

"Don't touch me!"

Draco meant it to sound like a warning, but it echoed back like a threat. He saw the hurt in her eyes just before her anger returned. Maybe she had planned to breakup with him, but not like this. Not without knowing why her Draco had pushed her away. Astoria wasn't going to take this treatment. She grabbed his arm forcefully, determined to talk it out.  
Draco pulled away and she'd ripped the glove off instead.  
Draco stopped walking.  
He turned to face her.

Around him the world has slowed as he stared down at his naked hand. The door appeared miles away and his panic attack a large dragon coiling around him.  
Suddenly he was hyperaware of all the people still dancing and laughing around him. Each individual a mistake waiting to happen. One wrong move. One clumsy dancer and it was all over. Most eyes were on him, his parents and McGonagall coming closer. Was the room getting colder or was that the blood moving painfully slower through his veins?

"That's all you have to say?" Astoria said rather loudly.

The last distracted few turned their heads his way, including Pansy and Blaise. They spotted his naked hand and Astoria's firm grip on the piece of cloth. Their eyes went wide.

"Astoria, please calm down," Luna said, but Astoria didn't seem to hear.

"Forget it? That's it?"

"Astoria," he said as softly as he could manage. A hint of urgency tainted his voice. Astoria waited for him to continue, most likely expecting a reasonable apology or some sign of remorse from their breakup. "Give me the glove."

Sensing she was about to chew him out, Draco began to walk away again.

"Did I do something wrong?" Astoria called desperately.

The hall went silent for a moment, the echo of his footsteps almost as loud as his heart, and then the whispers multiplied. The trio called his name too. The door felt miles away and Draco was beginning to drown in attention.

"Shut up."

"No! Why won't you talk to me?"

Draco saw a single snowflake drift by him, and a couple more had begun to float around nearby students. They whacked at them, looking for its source.

"Astoria, stop it!" Neville hissed.

The trio continued to call after him and Astoria wasn't about to back down. The panic attack clouded his vision. Snow was fell faster. He had to act quick _. He had to act now._

"Why will you only talk to the ghost? What are you so afraid of?!"

"SHUT UP!"

* * *

He knew something else was wrong. Luna and Neville had that same look on their face from Hogsmead, but Harry Potter never expected _this.  
_ It had happened so quickly, Harry wasn't sure any of it was actually true. With a single move of his hand Draco had created a meter long wall of ice spikes, only half his body visible over the barrier.

The students nearest to him yelped and fell backwards.

Harry choked on air as a million thoughts swam through his mind, none which would make sense unless his friends confirmed it.  
He looked at Ron and Hermione, both their faces just as astounded as his. Their eyes remained wide as realization dawned on them.

Draco Malfoy.

His former bully.

His former friend.

They boy he'd known—thought he'd known—most of his life was the ruler of Arendelle.

That moment lasted an eternity. Harry saw Draco's horrified face as his eyes danced all around the Great Hall, taking in the silent and paralyzed crowd he'd caused.

It had worked. Astoria had shut up. Everyone had.

Astoria was the first to break the silence, careful to use his first name, "Draco."

He looked at her, at Luna and Neville, and finally the trio. He shook his head slowly, trying to wake himself from a dream.  
Finally, he ran.

Harry was first in the lead after him.

"Draco!" he called down the hall.

Not many followed behind him—most were still too stunned to move—but Harry had learned how to fight the stillness of danger long ago.

* * *

 **A/N: If you haven't caught it yet, the song is from Fantastic Beasts (it's called 'The Blind Pig'). For the record, I've never stressed so hard when editing (not since the last chapter of Wizards Go Muggle). Gotta love climax chapters haha. Thank you for the continued encouragement, it means so much. I'll try to update soon and I hope you enjoyed this strange chapter!**


	17. Chilled Legacy XVII

**Chilled legacy XVII**

"Draco, stop!" Hermione called as they turned the corner. It was a dead end.

The blond backed away towards the wall, hand raised in warning.

McGonagall was saying something to him, but neither Draco nor Harry were listening. Harry's mind was too clouded as he hazily analyzed the boy in front of him, trying to make sense of it all. Draco looked like a cat cornered by a pack of rabid dogs, eyes dancing rapidly. It didn't matter how gentle their barks were—in the end all he heard was _run_.

"Come with us," Harry managed to hear before Draco blasted at the floor, sending them flying towards the walls.

Harry landed with Ron, Astoria, and Hermione on the left, losing sight of the group on the opposite side as shimmering blue flakes began to fall and disperse on the ground. Blue? He touched the back of his head for damage.

Draco ran through the middle of the blast, not looking back.

Harry felt everything move in slow motion. His footsteps echoed in his ears at the pace of his heart, but they were still not fast enough. A couple more near captures later and they'd lost Draco after only a few minutes of chasing. Maybe he wasn't as fast as Harry, but the fact that he created an ice wall every time they got close greatly aided his escape.

It did no good to split up. If they did, none would be a match for him, that was evident from the fourth ice wall McGonagall and Hermione began melting.

Lucius and Narcissa had been left behind in the Great Hall and Harry suspected were with Slughorn, chasing alongside other last minute search parties.

Conversations and moments with Malfoy played in his head as they stood dumbstruck in the middle of the moving stairways arguing over left, right, up, or down.

" _Malfoy is right. Maybe we should just find them and turn them in."_

 _"Are you sure you can?" Draco replied._

 _"Finding them can't be that hard."_

 _"Turning them in I mean."_

 _"You said it yourself, it's the only way. Besides, it's not like they'll make me do the killing."_

 _"In that moment you might as well be."_

Harry bit his lip, looking around the stairwell. The memory hadn't even lasted a second before the other one flashed through his mind.

 _"Do you know who he is?"_

 _Draco looked at his hands, then at Blaise's body as they carted it out of the cavern. He slipped the wrinkled glove on. "I've always known."_

Harry gripped his head, knowing which one was coming.

 _"No. No to all of it. Why would you think I want to hear this? You knew who he was the whole time and you let me run around like an idiot!"_

 _"Potter—"_

 _"_ No _. If you want me to forgive your deceitful, idiotic attempts at 'changing', tell me who the bloody ruler is, now, Malfoy."_

 _"Why are you hiding them?" Hermione coaxed._

 _"I'm sorry. I can't._

 _"You won't. Big difference."_

He yanked at his hair. Ron and Hermione saw and Ron shook him—literally—out of his trance.

"Harry?"

"He was going to tell us!"

McGonagall turned to look at him for the first time. "Why would he tell you?"

Harry uncurled his fingers from his hair, fists still trembling. He'd completely blown it. "I don't know. He was waiting to see if he could trust us. We showed him the opposite and…"

"He trusted _you_ ," Harry said to Neville and Luna. "You knew this whole time, didn't you? Why would you hide this from me? I wouldn't've hurt him!"

"We know that, Harry, but Draco didn't trust us either. We—er—found out. I was going to tell you, but Draco said he would," Neville explained. _"Eventually."_

There was a silence as they began looking around again, all except McGonagall who switched her glare between Neville and Luna. She sounded more like her angry feline form than the calm and collected teacher. "How could you hide such a thing?"

Luna looked at Harry then at McGonagall. "He's our friend, professor. Draco isn't dangerous."

For a second, Harry believed Luna. It was much like in fifth year when everyone believed Harry was a dangerous lunatic crying wolf. Luna and Neville had stuck by him just like they were doing for Draco now. After all, hadn't he been attempting to find a cure for the powers? But just like before, another memory shot through him.

 _Yes, your highness,_ the voice of the ruler had said just before they broke through the barrier to find Blaise's bloodied body. Harry shivered at the inexistent whisper that reminded him of Voldemort.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Harry said, then paused. Something else clicked inside his brain, but Hermione spoke first

"The gloves…the Fiendfyre," Hermione said. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"He saved you with the curse," Harry said, feeling his brain throb. Why was nothing adding up? The one that helped them yet the culprit? The one that saved his best friends yet hurt Blaise? His friend yet his enemy? Just exactly who was Draco Malfoy? Was one of his revealed faces a cover or was it all him?

He groaned, feeling his head about to split open from the opposite voices shouting, some telling him to trust Malfoy and others to lock him up in Azkaban with ice proof cuffs. Deciding listening to them wouldn't make the splitting headache ease, Harry went with finding him first then following whatever impulse came after (as usual).

"First off," McGonagall said after another long silence, "whether he wants to be or not, Mr. Malfoy is a danger to the students. Most, I doubt, know he is the ruler as of yet, but let's not allow them to find out the wrong way. We have to secure the corridors nearest to the courtyard and call the students to their dormitories."

Astoria snorted, speaking for the first time. "No doubt we'll have some idiotic Gryffindor attempt to take him down if the rumor spreads to the party half of the castle, but they won't listen to anyone but the teachers and prefects—" she signaled to the trio—"with the exception of you three."

"Idiotic what?"

Astoria ignored Ron. "That leaves me, Luna, and Neville to look for him."

"Ms. Greengrass, I'm afraid I cannot leave my students to chase after Mr. Malfoy alone. It is far too dangerous. Potter, Granger, and Weasley will come with me to get the students back in their dorms. Luna and Longbottom will gather the teachers and meet us in the courtyard."

"What about me?"

"These five are of age and have proven quite capable of handling a crisis in several occasions. You will go back to the dorm with the other Slytherins."

Astoria looked pleadingly at the professor. "Draco would never hurt me— _please_."

"Absolutely not."

She looked like she wanted to object, but complied. While she was a Slytherin, Harry had heard from Draco that Astoria had always been several teachers' favorite. She was obedient, quiet in class, and made top marks in her year. It was certainly a step up from her sister. Harry still had no idea how she'd managed to run this far in those heels and dress. She took the sparkling silver shoes off before giving Hermione one last smile, shrinking several inches.

Just before she was out of sight, Astoria turned back to look at McGonagall. "Please don't hurt him."

* * *

Draco could hear the chatter in the distance as he edged closer to the party side of the castle. Other than the ball incident, no one else had seen him use his powers as of yet. Whether the rumors had spread or not, people tended to want to see things for themselves. So far he'd avoided causing an angry mob, but that thought didn't help him see the glass half full either.

He leaned against the wall a few corridors away from Myrtle's bathroom, sucking in air and slowly sliding down until he hit the floor. His legs continued to shake and the room spin.  
Draco wanted to react. He truly did. But the moment that happened he knew it would be too much to think about anything rationally.  
His body was too exhausted to carry on and he wanted a safe space to crawl in and hide for a couple hours, but they would find him. Nowhere in the castle was safe, not even the room of requirements.

For now, he settled for catching his breath. His lungs and legs were on fire. The potion, the panic attack, and the running left him more dead than alive, but alive enough for him to know what all Malfoy's needed to do—survive.  
Maybe someone else would've done the seemingly logical thing and asked for help. Turned themselves in.  
Truth was, he'd almost done that, but the chance of execution—however small it was at the time—had overpowered rational thinking. It was the same situation as the year he first became a death eater and the choice to trust Snape with his and his parent's survival had presented itself. Draco had been so close to handing Potter his trust, but now it was too late to do anything except run. Run and survive. It was the curse of the Malfoys.

He put his head on his knees, wondering how much time he could stay here. What had it been? Ten, twenty minutes? He wondered who else was looking for him. It couldn't be the whole castle. Knowing McGonagall she'd probably be stuffing the students inside the dorms, so even if she had made the announcement in the last half hour, the search party could only just be officially forming.

Draco managed to stand. This time he didn't run, but rather walked slowly to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, as if moments before he hadn't shot at a couple students and was being tracked by readily armed wizards.  
He was too close to the party now and racing was reckless. Slamming into a dancer was bad enough, but running into the trio could end it all. He had to get that bag.

Draco heard voices approaching and picked up the pace.

Once inside he shut the door behind him, taking in the familiar sound of dripping pipes. Here he could hear the outside world more clearly. The wind rattled the fragile windows, reminding Draco there was life outside of this castle. An entire world was waiting for him with new hiding spots where no one would ever look for the ruler of Arendelle. Every so often he could find a new spot and maybe in a decade everyone would've forgotten about the stupid prophecy just like they did with Voldemort.

He would be safe and completely alone.

A mixture between a laugh and a sob escaped him. Draco covered his mouth, his eyes stinging and more muffled sounds escaped him.

That's when he first heard the intruder. The light footsteps were no louder than the drips from the drenched, broken pipes as they hit the floor. The sound would've been audible when he first entered, so whoever it was hadn't decided to move until the first sobs, making the mistake of stepping in one of the dozens of puddles on the floor.

Draco looked under the sink where he'd left the bag, but it was gone.

"Astoria," Draco said, edging closer. "Please."

Astoria looked at the bag in her hand then at Draco. "I thought you would be here. It's your only hiding place in this half of the castle—" she pulled the bag closer to her body—"What do you want with it? You'll take off again if I give it to you, won't you?"

"No," he lied, "darling, just give it to me. Throw it on the floor. I don't want to hurt you."

Draco had ditched the other glove somewhere during the second ice wall to buy time. He inched closer until they were only three meters apart. This was as close as he dared to come. He needed the bag—he _had_ to save himself, but what if he hurt her? Draco couldn't stop the thought of her cold, lifeless statue lying on the floor next to the bag from invading him.

 _No._

He stopped reaching for the bag and clasped his hands over his chest. "I don't want to hurt you, not you—" flakes of snow began swirling around the room, wind slapping their hair as Draco's breathing increased—"Put the bag down!"

Astoria stepped back, blinking and spitting out her ruined curls as they flew into her mouth, but didn't comply. "I can help you, please stop running. I can get you new gloves and we'll find the cure together."

Every word grew closer to a shout as the wind picked up. He spotted Myrtle shouting something else to his left. It was no good, Astoria didn't sense the danger.  
Draco curled his fingers, taking in the icy wind's energy and forming a glowing, blue blast, shooting it sideways. There was a sound like crunching gravel followed by a choking noise. Myrtle's solidified form stayed in midair for a couple seconds before crashing and sending shards shooting across the room. One sliced the bottom of Astoria's dress, leaving her unharmed.

Astoria dropped the bag.

"It's about time you were afraid of me."

* * *

The party and gossip had spread. Students filled the corridors, laughing and talking, ignoring the threats from a red, fuming Filch. Loud noises—probably fireworks—came from outside. Unlike inside the Great Hall, here the air smelled of alcohol that had been craftily hidden somewhere in the party room.

Night time had come and the corks had been popped. Most were oblivious to the recent developments, but none to the rocking concert just before it. A few tried to stop him, calling out after the new celebrity. Draco ran until reaching a dead-end: the entrance courtyard.

The crowd here was a thick bush of heads. No way out.

He gripped the bag tighter, shaking hands struggling to get it open. Draco still wasn't sure how the book portkey worked. His first conclusion was that it hadn't opened for Potter because he wasn't a pureblood, but then it failed to open for him too.  
Maybe he had to open it back cover first—or was it front cover? Did the pictures have anything to do with it?

The crowd grew bigger, and Draco stopped thinking about the hidden flower portkey. If he wanted to escape, he'd have to leave the castle first. The wind had picked up significantly, so he hadn't thought anyone would be outside. Clouds the size of mountains edged closer to the castle. _  
God, please no thunder. Haven't I had enough?_  
He ran forward, panting madly. The bush crowd began to form a circle around him, every head shouting something different—either praise for saving the party, or hate over the posters:

"— _absolutely amazing!"_

"— _unforgivable monster."_

"— _didn't even realize—such talent!"_

"— _see you singing in Azkaban."_

"Are you okay?" Draco heard the voice of a girl.

She was a fourth year Ravenclaw, tall and thin, her soft eyes reminding Draco of the soothing stars in the Great Hall. But there was nothing soothing about this situation.

The crowd grew bigger around him—the party's hated savior—and he found himself backing ever so slowly more towards the south side of the crowd leading to the bridge. One long topple down towards the Great Lake. He could feel the sharp rocks cutting through his skin already.

"Draco!" he heard Harry call from somewhere in the back. Granger, Weasley, and McGonagall were with him, McGonagall ineffectively yelling orders for everyone to leave. The name was only just audible over his screaming thoughts. _Run. Just run. You have to run._

Draco saw the snowflakes begin to fall. These were different. It was like they were glowing a moonlight blue, sparkles dispersing as they fell on the ground.

He didn't have time to ponder them. The girl was inching closer as the trio and McGonagall cut through the crowd. There was no way he could figure the book out before they got to him. He thought about jumping, but he'd have to shove past the crowd behind him. Someone would shoot or grab him before he had the chance.

 _Why did I go to that stupid party?_

Harry grabbed the Ravenclaw's arm and pulled her back, but that didn't stop him and the others from coming closer.

He laced his hands behind his back wishing he hadn't ditched the gloves. The students and Harry were getting too close to the flame, not knowing it could flicker momentarily and burn them alive. Draco wasn't scared of anything in particular now. Only scared of being scared. It was the fear that fueled his powers since the beginning. He wasn't scared, but becoming scared would cause a malfunction and that scared him. He would've laughed at the irony if he weren't so scared.

More teachers arrived to help McGonagall with Luna and Neville. Not long after, about five people from the Great Hall, Pansy and Blaise included. "And now we're only missing the minister of magic and the queen of England," Draco mumbled.

Finally, someone drove sense into the oblivious crowd.

"Back away!" McGonagall finally shouted when she reached the front. "Mr. Malfoy is—"

Thunder erupted through the sky and students behind him were thrown back with a sudden ice blast. Had he been a few meters closer to the edge, students would be toppling in a downward spiral into uncertain waters. The columns near them were now covered by a thick layer of ice. Everyone drew back from him at once, some screaming, the older students shielding the first years.

It grew speedily, spreading to the surrounding columns and open ceiling.

" _It's him!"_

" _Monster!"_

The ice resembled crystallized cobwebs, spikes pointing out in random angles. He wished he could say the cold monster looked majestic—scary even—but the cobwebbed crystals only looked diseased, and the exterminators had just arrived on the scene.

* * *

Amelia, the young Ravenclaw, stumbled backwards, nearly knocking over Harry. He calmly stepped in front of her and a group of girls dragged her away towards the castle. A few tried to stay and watch what would happen next, only to be dragged away by the professors. The only ones left were Seventh years and a couple Sixth years, wands up and ready to shoot.

Below the bridge Harry could hear the waves crash against the rocky edge, powered by furious winds. Still, snow fell instead of rain, like glistening blue crystals.

"Don't jump," Hermione said as she followed Draco's eyes. "You won't survive."

"Come any closer and I will!"

More thunder echoed and the snow fell faster, definitely shimmering blue. As it fell to the ground large figures of glowing snowflakes flickered for a moment before freezing over. Harry noticed the frost spread over the ground and up the castle, unmelting. What sounded like the hissing wind became louder, multiplying like the sounds of an angry beehive.

" _Your land shall be cursed with unending winter… all will perish in snow and ice…unless you are freed with a sword sacrifice."_

The voice wasn't like that of the prophecy. It resembled howling winds or ghostly sobs.

"Surrender. Surrender and we won't hurt you," Harry promised.

Draco's flickered towards Harry's. He saw honesty. The fear of the jump was written all over his face, the rocks that would certainly tear his skin to shreds incomparable to the small leap he'd taken at the manor to reach his room. He made eye contact with Luna and Neville and stopped backing away and slowly began to raise his hands in surrender—

As if on cue, more seventh years burst into the courtyard, readily armed with swords stolen from the suit of armors. Draco spotted them and took up a fighting stance. He glared at Harry, a familiar look of betrayal crossing his face. "Like hell you won't!"

"No—don't!"

Harry jumped to the side as Draco shot at the floor. Students charged forward and Draco ran towards the edge. One lunged forward and pinned him to the ground. The sword cut into his arm, the voices growing louder, and the snow and wind blinding.

He didn't have the courage to strike, Harry noticed, as the dragged Draco to the center of the courtyard. Draco didn't kick or scream. His breathing had increased and Harry could tell he was trying to stay completely still. Could it be he was trying _not_ to shoot?

They threw him on his stomach, keeping him at sword point.

McGonagall was shouting for them to stop. It was obvious none planned to strike, but something had to happen. For the first time Harry saw what the blue snow meant—the curse had been activated. Harry didn't know what did it exactly, but there was no denying the snow wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

Draco looked like he might've been hyperventilating, but the storm around him was blinding. The wind around them cut into Harry's bones. It blew too hard to breathe or feel as if he were on the ground yet plummeting a hundred feet towards the Arctic sea.

Everyone was watching it all unfold. Everyone was watching Draco take the icy throne. The land around them shook with every splintering blast of snow and hail. A low rumbling crackle echoed all around the castle as the lake turned to ice.

A deep blue glow matching the flakes was emitted from Draco's chest. The Slytherin—Blaise—holding the sword backed away. _A ruler with a frozen heart_ echoed in his head one last time. Hermione had been right all along about the symbolism, but when the growing coldness inside Draco became powerful enough to freeze his core was a mystery.

There were no words to describe his face, and pained didn't do it justice. It was one person holding back the torrent of the curse and failing. His clothes frosted over, turning the black silks blue.

It happened in slow motion. An icy explosion shot out of him. It was aimed for Harry and Luna—probably unintentionally since they were the only ones that had dared to be this close.

Harry ducked and Luna fell to the ground.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Aaaahh so close to the ending. I'm estimating about 3 more chapters max...I think. Thank you for the feedback. It means a lot :)**


	18. Chilled Legacy XVIII

**A/N:** **Okay so my plan was to work super hard while on vacation, but then I realized traveling makes you not want to work because you're constantly doing something. I'm finally home. I was visiting the states. Shout out to my American readers. Y'all have really big grocery stores, just something I noticed.  
**

 **Anyway, here's the month-late chapter. Super sorry. Already started working on the new one. Don't kill me.**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy XVIII**

All had gone quiet and cold inside him, like the inside of a cooler room. He was reminded mere days ago when Luna had found him bleeding on the floor and given him her strange fur coat, snapping Draco out of his trance. Now he was in another trance, a strange mixture of the adrenaline pumping through him when he'd attacked Blaise and the anaesthetized sensation of sitting in the still coldness with Luna.

The wind had stopped and the flakes fell slowly now.

He looked around at the castle. Completely covered in frost, coated in several feet of unmelting snow. For once he didn't feel chilly. Nor did he care that he'd frozen the highlands of Scotland. Draco's chest felt strangely cold, colder than the air around him, but his only concern now was getting the hell out of there before his head was hacked off.  
That was the only feeling the curse let him feel—fear followed by self-preservation. It was that feeling that told him to move though his emotions and senses felt like they'd been drifting at the bottom of the frozen lake for too long, unable to twitch an inch to the left of the right, overcome by hypothermia.

A soft groan echoed just in front of him over the silent, horrified crowd.

Blond locks nearly the same shade as his were sprawled across the ground. Draco's eyes slowly followed their source to the most ridiculous frilly green dress he'd ever seen, like a bush dangling uncut grass.  
The hair covered the girl's face, but he didn't need to see it to know. He'd shaken his head and smiled when he first saw the dress at the ball, but Draco wasn't smiling now.

There was a thud in his chest like a picaxe chipping away at the ice blanketing the lake, trying to reach the warmer bottom. It was light. Barely effective.

Then Draco shook his head and blinked, a much louder thud stopping the air from entering his lungs momentarily. The name of the girl finally came to him, as if someone had blown away the fog in his vision.

"Luna," Draco said softly.

Another thud.

" _Luna,"_ he said much louder.

Suddenly Draco was on the floor, clutching her unconscious body to his chest, thoughts of incoming danger scattered. Each intake of breath was another thud to the chest.

His fingers brushed the hair out of her eyes and he began to shake her slightly.

"Luna. Luna, no. I'm sorry. Merlin—Luna wake up! I'm so sorry, _please_."

Her body was shaking like a lone kitten left in the rain, and Draco could see the frost spreading on her lips. The nearly-white blonde hair was turning lighter strand by strand.

Still, her eyes fluttered open.

"Stay with me Luna, don't fall asleep," he told her, not entirely sure how being awake would help. "It was an accident, I'm so sorry. It's my fault. I didn't mean it, Luna."

"I… it's…I'm c-cold," was all she managed.

He felt tears stream down his face, but his throat was dry. The coldness in his chest had traversed like a river to his eyes, splattering on his friend's face.

Draco looked up at Harry, then at the sword in his hand.

* * *

Someone—Harry suspected Seamus—had handed him a sword during the silence.

McGonagall had run to push Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy back from the commotion. They had arrived moments before when Blaise had their son at sword point.  
Other than Harry, everyone else had backed away after the explosion, but the Malfoy's pushed forward and the teachers were forced to push them back before anything else set Draco off.

One teacher, Professor Sprout, bolted to fetch Madam Pomfrey. Harry knew trusted Aurors (friends of Moody) would arrive soon, if not wardens of Askaban or expert healers from St. Mungo's to take Draco to solitary confinement.  
Maybe both would arrive and then figure out what to do with him.

Other than McGonagall and the teachers she shouted orders to, no one really scattered. McGonagall trusted Harry wouldn't swing. It was either that, or deep down she wanted him to.

The sword in his hand weighed a ton, at least that's what it felt like.  
Whatever happened now wouldn't be considered murder to the public, not coming from the Boy Who Lived. They had more than enough eyewitness evidence to tie Draco Malfoy to being the ruler. The boy was a weapon of mass destruction. If he swung like most expected, Harry would break the curse and save the land. They would think him a hero, not a murderer.  
But it felt like murder.

"Do it," Draco said, his voice sounding like gravel. He held Luna in his arms, not even noticing the change in attire. His clothes hadn't just frosted over, they _were_ frost. The fabric was made out of what looked like powdered crystals turned to silk, sparkling blue in this sunless atmosphere. Some were threaded together to form subtle snowflake patterns on the barely translucent cape.

Gently, Draco placed Luna's body back on the ground. With a single glance around the frozen land, he bowed his head, waiting for the sword.

The swing never came.

"I won't" Harry said softly. Then, taking in the crowd, "I won't kill him!"

"I said do it dammit!" Draco cried.

Luna's hair was so light it was hard to tell which streaks were turning white anymore. Her lips were already blue.

Harry understood what would happen. If Draco lived, Luna would die. Still, Draco's willingness took him by surprise. He couldn't see himself swinging the sword down on his neck. The only thing he could see was the smiling blond walking down the hall with him, Ron, and Hermione as they chatted away about the latest quidditch article _._ Something had felt so right and natural about the way he blended with them.  
He felt and touched too many things in that moment, but in the end they were all just one. They were all Draco. From the first time he'd extended his hand to offer him a toxic friendship, to the last time he'd reached out for a genuine one. Insults, mocking laughter, genuine compliments, and genuine laughter.

"Maybe you won't." Draco said, shakily standing. "But I know who will."

The crowd backed away further, but Harry didn't.

"What?" Harry asked. He was sure no one here had the guts to raise the sword.

Neville picked up Luna and wrapped her in his coat, carrying her bridal style away from Draco. He eyed the blond, but he didn't look angry or scared like the rest, just confused and worried. Draco didn't dare look at him.

Draco's eyes searched the ground for the bag. With a flick of his hand, it was once again in his grip.

"What are you doing?" Neville asked

Draco raised his other hand, "stay back."

"You won't hurt me," Neville challenged.

"Yeah?"

Draco shot at the ground again, blasting Harry back. A large wall—longer than Harry had ever seen—began to grow around the crowd, encasing them.  
The ice was thinner and slower growing than the previous walls. There was no panicked blast, the ice grew almost gracefully. Harry easily began to punch his way out.

He broke through the other side just in time to see Draco jump, bag in hand.

* * *

The castle and the people in it had turned to utter chaos—teachers running, shouting orders, fetching extra blankets. The slytherins busted out of their refrigerator dorms and were demanding to sleep in the Great Hall or in the kitchens with the hufflepuffs.

It was cold.

Damn cold.

Harry felt like jumping into the fireplace and rolling in the flames, and he would've too if he weren't so busy helping people melt the ice from…well, everything. After about an hour they realized it was useless. The cold death stuck to the wall as if merged with the brick. The mold-looking frost expanded without end, enough for the teachers to start chucking fireballs at the walls.

Talk about tracking down Draco started again. Aurors and healers had just begun to fly in and out of fireplaces.

Harry had no idea where he could've gone. One minute he was jumping towards the ice bellow, the next he'd vanished into thin air. Large parties searched the forests and over the lake on brooms, but there wasn't the slightest trace. McGonagall suspected he ran through the boarder then apparated, but the theory had several holes. For one, no one had seen him running. Draco simply dispersed mid-jump.

Harry moved on to the Great Hall with Ron to start another fire before the slytherins froze. He kept his hands his pockets and half his face tucked safely in the somewhat useless scarf. Ron dropped the large pot in the center, whispering the same spell for what felt like the millionth time and a burning ember began to grow at its center. After he was done, he shoved his hands in his pockets as fast as Harry, cursing in inaudible, jittery mumbles. They did this with several more pots until the Great hall became less unbearable.

It might've been the strangest sight he'd seen today—the slytherins giving up their own blankets to cover the more cold intolerant friends. The older snakes huddled together with the first and second years, rubbing their shoulders and preforming advanced (but useless) heat charms to the air around them.

 _Slytherin, you'll make your real friends._ Harry was reminded of Draco jumping in front of the Fiendfyre.

There were still the exceptions. Blaise was in the corner of the room with a couple other questionable figures, arguing avidly with a short girl Harry couldn't see through the flakes.

Ron looked in the same direction. "Is that Astoria?"

Harry and Ron ran towards her, but it turned out she didn't require any help. It was Blaise who was in trouble.

Behind Zabini stood a small army composed of Pansy, a couple other slytherins, two gryffindors, and a ravenclaw, each holding a sword.

"We only came to recruit, not ask your permission, shrimp."

"I won't let you lay a finger on him, Parkinson."

Pansy looked her up and down, towering over her. She wrinkled her nose as if she were covered in dog vomit.

"Oh yeah? You going to fight us for your precious boyfriend?"

Astoria didn't flinch. "I will."

Ron and Harry looked at each other, shrugged, and then stood behind her, swordless. Blaise whistled and five more students with swords ran in to the Great Hall and joined his ranks.

"You know what I hate, Blaise?" Astoria said calmly.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. Astoria pulled her wand from her belt. "When wizards lower themselves to such stupidity and give in to using senseless muggle weapons. _Alarte Ascendare!_ "

Blaise was shot up to the celling before Harry had a chance to blink, just barely missing the candles. There was a chorus of screams, but none had time to move before Blaise landed on the group of sword wielding wizards.

"Anyone else want to come after Draco?" she shouted at the room

"I'm starting to like this girl," Ron whispered to Harry.

"D-don't let Hermione hear you say that."

"I think the slytherins should be a b-bit warmer now," Ron said. The snow fall has lessened in the room and the frost melted slightly. "Let's go see who else needs our help. Green, you coming or are you planning to start a riot?"

Astoria hesitated.

"No one will go searching for him in this storm," Harry assured her as if she were a small child. _Everything will be right were you left it when we get back._

The tone worked since she nodded and followed them out.

No one needed their help.

That is, everyone needed their help, but they needed so much of it that in the end there was nothing they could really do. Everyone in the halls stared as he walked, expecting him to pull out a master plan. He felt he should be doing something. The only thing that could make this better was him tracking down Draco and ending his life, but that was most definitely out of the question.

There was a certain clarity that came with adrenaline and tragedy. Draco Malfoy wasn't the enemy. After all this time, he could finally see it, and it made his insides clench. Wherever Draco was and what he was planning had his head feeling fuzzy. Deep down Harry knew something wasn't right, that his friend was in trouble and it was all his fault.  
Maybe if he'd seen the signs or been kinder the land and the school wouldn't be frozen, Draco wouldn't be missing, and (worse of all) Luna wouldn't be dying.

The heat charms weren't enough. Harry could continue setting up burning pots or performing more spells around the castle, but most everyone was doing that already. There had to be a plan. A strategy. A miracle. _Something._

Astoria laid a shivering hand on his shoulder. "It's not up to you, you know. Sometimes things just happen. You can't always be the hero and you can't save everyone. I don't blame you for what happened, and you shouldn't either."

For the first time in the last hour Harry felt warm. He wouldn't be surprised if he tilted his head his face brushed against a wool blanker that someone had wrapped around him. Once more, he saw Draco's pained face. The way his tears fell to Luna's face. Then, his shivering friends and teachers. They were the words Harry needed to hear this, especially from Astoria, the one who cared for Draco the most. "You—you don't?"

"Why would I? I'm the one who…pushed him."

"No you weren't," Ron said, surprising both of them. "He'd already been pushed. No one accident was the last. They all fit together in a sort of puzzle, I think."

"He saw me fear him," Astoria said. "I can never take that back."

"We're all jerks," Ron said. "Even Draco. No use crying about it now."

Astoria nodded, realizing she'd got off topic.

"What now?" Harry interrupted the silence. "I can't just let them die."

"You can't make a miracle, Harry. Now we take care of each other. Do the best you can with what you've got. We can start by being with Luna—Neville is with her—and keeping people from going after Draco."

"After what you did I don't think anyone would even _look_ at Draco the wrong way," Harry said.

Astoria smiled, something Harry thought impossible right now. He could've sworn he heard the ice cracking, as if that single smile had cast a ray of light on the frozen lake. When had their teeth stopped chattering?

"You're not so bad, for a Slytherin."

"And you're not so stupid, for a Gryffindor."

"What about me?" Ron asked.

"You're still pretty stupid," Astoria replied with fake malice.

Ron smiled too.

* * *

They say many things clear the mind. Draco heard somewhere that a long car ride helped muggles clear their simpleminded problems, like a long broom ride. Running was also a good one. Draco found out this year that singing was his mind-clearer, but he also found that plummeting from a certain deathly height did the trick. Maybe it was the cold wind slashing at his face and his stomach jumping to his throat as he rocketed towards ice-covered rocks, powering the thrill of the adrenalin pumping through his veins.

Or the near-death experience.

Definitely the near death experience.

During those few shorts seconds something in his mind snapped together. He reached towards the book, felt for the leathery flower and suddenly he was floating through the air stomach first until he arrived there again—Arendelle.

The outskirts of Arendelle were brighter and bolder than ever before, the clarity of the fall still pulsating through him. It was only mildly cold compared to Hogwarts. A light wind brushed his face and the new warmness bled through him. Everything was a forest green engulfed in a bright blue sky. Up ahead he could see petit stone structures and olden houses. It was the small paradise the old retired to.

He gripped the book in his shaking hands, replaying the fall in his mind.

"What gives?" he said, opening it to Aunt Bella's page.

She was laughing. "What ever do you mean?"

Draco was certain she knew what he was referring to, but clarified to save time. He needed time. "The portkey worked. The flower was missing before, and now it's not. It was there the first time, but…"

Bellatrix shrugged. "It only opens for the ruler. Potter couldn't get in if he begged."

"But it didn't work for me the other day either."

"The portkey is hidden by a secret code," Andromeda answered. "All we know is that it only opens for the ruler on specific instances."

"Specific meaning what exactly?"

"Who knows?" Bellatrix said. "But it was quite hilarious watching you flail, darling."

Draco frowned. He was losing time. Precious time. What good did it do him to know how the portal opened now? This would be the last time he used it…or any portal. His hands slid over the corner to shut the book—

"What brings you to Arendelle? Come to freeze Norway too?" Bellatrix said, eyes gleaming.

She knew it wasn't a last minute escape plan for the fall. Draco could've easily shot soft layers of powdered snow to aide his fall. They'd heard him fight with Astoria for the bag; this wasn't just some random location to save himself.  
It was the perfect location to destroy himself.

Another thing that came with the clarity of the present was the clarity of the past. After his first trip to this strange land, the memories of what and who he saw that drunken day sunk in slowly throughout the rest of the week, and—during the jump—all at once.

Small things were still blurred, but Draco remembered what he was doing and where he went. The sky had been cloudy and dark, covering every single star. Several muggles turned to look at the stumbling teen dressed in black Hogwarts robes. Even without Draco shooting lazy snowflakes at them he was a public oddity. Begging them to kill him didn't help either.

Not that many understood his slurred English anyway. Some small children thought the flakes were a fun trick, pointing, laughing, and reaching for Draco. The adults didn't know what to make of it and a coupled tightened their grip on the children, pulling them away.

" _Kill me. Kill me,"_ Draco kept telling them.

It was minutes before someone finally understood his language. He was a young man with dirty blond hair and a thick Norwegian accent. The other two with him understood the basics—a red haired woman with few wrinkles and a pixie cut, and a burly bald man with more tattoos than Draco could count, many which moved. He let himself sink into the memory.

 _By the time the burly man reached him, Draco was beyond the point of walking. He didn't know what was going on and he didn't much care. The man slung him over his shoulder like a rag doll as Draco mumbled, "you have to kill me. I'm the ruler."_

 _The burly man turned to the younger wizard. "Ruler?"_

 _He explained the word,_ Hersker _, as he wrapped Draco's ungloved hand with his scarf and the burly man nodded as if Draco's claim made perfect sense._

 _There wasn't any talking on the way to town. Draco may or may not have puked on the way there. They stopped at a strange shop with a red veil which felt like sandpaper as he passed through. This part was the blurriest of all—Draco couldn't remember the inside or who else was there a (paintings? Crystal balls? Stuffed animal heads?) , maybe it was just the four of them. But what he could remember is what was said.  
They wanted Draco to understand what was happening, as if they'd known he'd remember it later. They spoke mostly English to him, slowly and firmly like a parent teaching a child to speak._

 _This was Arendelle. The hidden wizarding side of the land was just through the veil with a population smaller than those attending Hogwarts. They knew of his powers and what he was capable of, and they were more than willing to grant his request and end the curse. Just not right that second._

" _We can train you," the blond explained. "Your powers are rare even here, but since your curse hasn't been activated death is not your only option, yet."_

 _Draco shook his head. In that moment all he'd wanted was death, but not to save the land. That's what the wizards thought his motives were, but he simply wanted to escape himself, his thoughts, and actions. Draco wanted a selfish death—murder, not sacrifice._

 _The others had refused. They planned to keep him there overnight until he was sober. If he still wanted to 'save the land' then, they would do it._

" _I vill not kill you child, not in this state."_

 _Draco zoned back into his normal self, feeling lost and confused as to where and who he was talking to. A chill ran through him as if someone had just dumped an ice bucket down the back of his robe. "Kill me?"_

 _The others noticed, gave him a blanket and left the room. The girl didn't look convinced and the sober-ish Draco didn't want to die. Where the hell was he? Where was Luna? He had to run—fast—before the killers decided on a time. As soon as they were far enough away, he touched the flower on the book again and reappeared in the music room._

Draco blinked away the memory, but the bitterness lingered.

He knew why the book opened now. He almost ended the curse once, now he was trying to end it again. Maybe the book didn't care what his motives were—as long as he was willing to die, it would take him here—but Draco cared. To hell with self-preservation or selfish death. No more _self_.

An old woman approached Draco, her hair as white as Luna's had been the last time he saw her. She had a kind, crooked-toothed smile. He had no idea what she was saying. Draco mumbled something in English and a look of recognition crossed her face.

"Are you lost, dearie?" she said with a thick accent.

Draco smiled. He was not lost. Something in him told him he could find that red veil blindfolded.

The day after his first trip he wrote of it in the room of requirements and compiled it with the other seemingly useless scratch notes of the curse. The scroll didn't say much, but it said enough. However, his purpose had changed. When his hand dropped the quill it was as if he'd stored a deadly poison at Gringotts which he was saving to drink on a dark day.

Draco had a true purpose for it now; dying to save his friend.

* * *

 **A/N: So I made a little Chilled Legacy trailer. It's on youtube by the name of "Harry Potter-Hero Ruelle" and the channel is Mitsuki Productions. Anyway, not really a bid deal. It was mainly to procrastinate and maybe inspire me to keep writing.  
Thoughts on the chapter? I'm not talking to myself, right?  
Again, I'll do my best to update soon and stop with the once-a-month-thing.  
Have an awesome week!**

 **-lauralydney**


	19. Chilled Legacy XIX: The Search Part 1

**A/N: So I'm not sure I've ever written a chapter this long this fast. I went into like a 3-day writing trance and everything is blurry no lol. I'm estimating about 1 more chapter left of this fic not counting a bonus one I'm adding.**

 **Anyway...**

 **Hope you guys enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy XIX**

I happened so slowly that Harry didn't notice the change until Ron pointed it out. He couldn't even pinpoint where it started, or if it would end, but one thing was for sure—the change was growing. Someone was blowing on a spark the size of a mustard seed, gently enough to be inaudible, but strong enough to ignite a fire that would bring both joy and tragedy.

They were nearly at the infirmary and Harry had slowly dug his hands out of his pockets and Astoria undid her scarf.

"It's warmer," Ron said.

A single drop fell atop Harry's face. It slid down from his forehead to his chin, Like Draco's tears on Luna's face. Then, another.

A long silence fell over them as they stared at the gradually melting walls and ceiling. Astoria started choking on air.

Harry and Ron turned to look at her, realization dawning on Ron first. "Draco," Ron whispered.

It was running time. Harry dragged Astoria behind them. Her legs moved, but she felt like a stumbling rag doll. They pushed through multitudes of students, many removing their thicker coats. Some were dumbstruck, others were already celebrating.

Harry pushed open the door of the infirmary and ungracefully crashed in. About ten healers turned to look at them.

"Let me see her," Harry demanded.

The main one made that fake empathetic, yet firm face that told him he was about to be shooed out just before a familiar figure walked forth from the crowd of healers.

"Neville," Ron said, "how is she? Is she—"

Ron stopped when he saw Neville's puffy eyes. Harry's heart plummeted to his stomach until Neville spoke next. "She woke up," he croaked, then half smiled. "She's okay."

Astoria's knees buckled behind Harry, his grip still on her arm. Her stare was blank, staring fixedly at nothing. Harry and Ron hoisted her up.

"What's going on?"

"Dray," Astoria whispered. "I want Draco."

"The castle is melting," Harry said, knowing Neville would understand immediately.

Just as Harry expected, his jaw dropped and they were running again, this time with Neville in their ranks.

* * *

So he couldn't find the red veil as blindfolded as he once thought. It was a minor setback, but everything was slowly falling into place. Now he knew exactly where he stood. Draco found himself wandering the outskirts of a small town by the name of Aust-Agder—near the southwest of the Norwegian capital.

The place was not exactly Arendelle, but he was close. Really close. Oddly shaped trees and rocks sent pulses through him, and at times he could almost hear the voices of the strange wizards with him and feel the cold breeze hit his numb, drunken face.  
Except now it felt more real, but he was all alone.

Any time he found his mind drifting to the current situation, or hear that voice telling him _don't be stupid_ , Draco would think of Luna and her blonde strands fading white like Stormberg's feathers. She would _not_ become another perfectly preserved statue. Even if he couldn't see it, she had to smile at Neville again, dreamily skip down an empty corridor humming a song no one listens to, and get deeply absorbed in conversation with an unfortunate and unsuspecting Hogwart's student about the dangers or wonders of undiscovered magical beasts. Luna had to keep being Luna. Draco had to do it.

 _Don't do this,_ Astoria's voice told him. _How could you? You promised to take me to the beach on my birthday. You lied. I'll never forgive you. Liar._

"You will. You'll find someone better to take you."

 _I won't._

"You will. You'll find someone who can keep you warm at the beach. I'm no good there."

 _You never told me you loved me or even kissed me. You have to come back and do it._

"There's no time...or point. Just shut up, would you?"

Draco shook his head and continued on his journey, occasionally attempting to communicate with Norwegian muggles, emphasizing words like _Arendelle_ , and _red veil._

Every time the words left his lips, he tasted death.

* * *

They reached the courtyard before finally stopping, the snow still present, but now a complete mush. Harry didn't know what to do or think, but one thing was certain; he would never accept this. Draco's death couldn't be happening.

He wasn't dead.

He couldn't be.

"I have to go look for him."

Yes, that was it. Harry would find him. Draco wasn't dead until he saw it, even if the ice beneath his feet turned into a river. The courtyard, Harry hoped, would clear his mind enough to reveal his next move, but once there everything felt blurrier. It was like the longer he went without doing something, the more the panic blurred his vision—sort of like trying to find the answer to a potions questions when you've already been called on (by Snape of all people), except getting the answer wrong or having no answer at all was...unthinkable.

"He was going somewhere," Neville said. "Draco was determined. Maybe he went to the manor."

Harry nodded, replaying his last moments on the cliff. "What did he say? _What did he say?_ It was something that made no sense, but I was too focused on him jumping..."

"He wanted you to kill him, but when you didn't he stood up. Something like _maybe you won't do it, but I know who will."_

"There's gotta be a way to track him," Ron said. "He was carrying a bag. Any of you know what was in it?"

Astoria shook her head slowly. Still blankly looking at nothing, she answered, "The bag was important."

Harry pulled Astoria to face him and crouched down. When eye to eye, she looked even more dazed. "Why was the bag important?"

Astoria didn't answer.

Harry shook her gently. "C'mon, Green. This is about finding Draco, okay? He'd not dead. Just answer— _what was in the bag?_ "

"I...don't know. He fought me for it and froze Myrtle."

Harry looked at Ron. "She's probably melted now."

And they were running again.

* * *

"Finally! Where is it? Is it far?"

The old traveler looked at Draco with concern. Draco didn't have to read his mind to know he wasn't thinking him sane. It was uncommon to be approached by a lone foreign teen dressed in hell-knows-what asking about a place no one's heard of. Maybe he would've felt self-conscious in another setting, but now he was just relieved the man spoke English.

His curiosity got the best of him and Draco read him anyway—the man thought he was a drug addict.

"Only place by that name is a small mirror shop a couple miles—" The man angled his head back to the left and pointed in the same direction—"that way."

"By any chance does this... _shop_ have a red veil?"

The man blinked a couple times then nodded. "Believe so. I know there's a shortcut—makes the travelin' distance half, but that's the only way I know."

 _Miles?_ Draco would never get there on foot in time. His eyes drifted to the man's horse-drawn wagon. Did he bring a wand? He felt his pockets—no _._ The man wasn't that big, Draco could probably take him if he grabbed a big enough rock—

"I could take you if you like."

 _Oh._

"That would be immensely kind of you. Please."

* * *

It was a truth most could agree on that when things needed to happen incredibly fast, the world around oneself moved slower than a pregnant turtle. Even the occasional drips from the pipes felt like they had a year gap between them. The only fast thing was his pounding chest. Myrtle's words seem to drawl out, and Harry hadn't even gotten one answer yet.

"I have eyes everywhere in the castle," Myrtle gloated. "But why should I help _you_? You never visit me. Draco does. If he doesn't want to be found let's leave it that way."

If punching a ghost was physically possible, Harry would've hit a girl for the first time in his life by now. "Myrtle, he _froze_ you. And from what I can tell, it wasn't an accident."

"Oh but it was! He has trouble controlling his powers when he's upset."

Harry sighed and thought for a minute he probably didn't have. "Maybe, but wouldn't you like to see him again? Myrtle, we think he's about to...do something incredibly stupid."

Myrtle's face changed. "He wouldn't."

"Draco ran off to break the curse," Ron said. "If we don't find him in time then you will have no visitors. I can promise that."

"We're wasting time," Harry hissed. "Tell us where he went!"

"The day he was drunk Neville and Luna left him alone for a moment—just a small moment. There was a book there next to him, and when he touched it he vanished. Luna and Neville searched for him in the nearest corridors and bathrooms, and then I think in the room of requirements."

Myrtle was finally speaking rapidly and Harry couldn't process half of it. A book? What book?

"An hour later he appeared in the room again with the book—a portkey, but only I saw him reappear."

"What did the book look like?" Ron asked.

"Leathery and old," Myrtle said. "And no, I don't know where it took him or what it was."

The pieces were still missing the final puzzle, but as hard as Harry tried, Myrtle didn't say more. She didn't know more. No one knew. Just when Harry was about to leave and look for Hermione, she spoke again.

"Draco kept all his things in the room of requirements. He sleeps there, actually. Any research or clues on the curse would be there."

The running continued.

* * *

It was a truth most could agree on that when things needed to happen incredibly fast, the world around oneself moved slower than a pregnant turtle.  
Why was this wagon so slow?

The man asked lots of basic questions Draco could easily lie about: where he was from, what he was doing here, what fabric his outfit was (Draco said silk, but he hadn't the slightest clue), why he was alone. Apparently Draco was a friendless orphan visiting a cousin who worked at the mirror shop. From there he was going to find his grand aunt and live with her until he could get on his feet.  
The man was convinced. Draco saw the pity. But was it enough pity for him to go faster?

Draco liked talking to him. In a way, it got his mind off Luna, Astoria, and his destination. Maybe if he said it enough times the fake story would become true. The friendless orphan part felt true enough.

 _Focus_. _You have to do this._

"What about school life? Got yourself a girlfriend?"

Draco knew the man meant it in the best way. The friendless orphan story was depressing—he hoped that if he brought some memories of a childhood crush into the conversation the mood would shift. His thoughts were written on his face without the use of Legilimency. Without meaning to, Draco answered the truth.

"Yeah. You could say that."

"Name?"

"Astoria. Astoria Greengrass."

"The girl as pretty as the name?"

Draco saw her smile and breathed in her perfume. Her laugh rang in his ears and he could feel her hand in his. For a moment he lost himself and almost asked the man to turn the wagon around. He had to have his last first kiss with her, his last first _I love you_ , and take her to the beach.  
Then, he pictured Luna again. A lump rose in his throat but he pushed it down.

"Prettier."

He didn't ask the man to turn around. He didn't cry either.

* * *

Hermione was always one step ahead of him, but today she was miles beyond. Harry mentally kicked himself, realizing it would've saved an immense amount of time if they'd looked for her first.

Harry, Ron, and Neville waited (Astoria only standing and looking at the ground) as Hermione sorted through the papers she'd found. This was the first place she'd run to when the castle began melting.

"He went to Arendelle," Hermione told them. "At least that's what he wrote, but it's a bunch of scrap notes—" she unrolled the first scroll on the pile and read, " _Drunk trip to Arendelle: Family records is flower portkey. Three wizards behind red veil. In case of curse emergency they can train or kill you. Town: unknown (too drunk). Country: Norway.  
_ "Draco went to Norway using a flower portkey," Hermione clarified. " _Where_ in the large landmass is a mystery. There are a few more scrap notes of physical descriptions of the people he saw, but I can't put together where."

Neville sighed. "So what you're saying is that he could be anywhere in Norway?"

"He circled a dot in a book, but there are no coordinates. Nothing." She paused and bit her lip.

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"I don't want you to get your hope up but..."

"But?"

"I think I might be able to track him. You know the charm used to track under aged magic? I know it, but it doesn't work on adult wizards."

"Then how does that help?" Harry snapped.

"I can try to merge it with another charm—the one place on the two-way mirrors."

Two-way mirrors. Sirius had given him one in case he ever needed help, but Harry never used it until his godfather had passed. It had been too late and he'd gotten no reply from the other end. Whatever Hermione was on to, Harry needed a reply this time.

"What will that do?" Neville asked.

Hermione looked at the ground. "I'm not sure. Draco has endless books on Norway. Many of them talk about mirror legends and even mention the mirror curse of the Snow Queen. If it works, we might be able to see what he sees...or make him go blind."

"Better blind than dead," Ron concluded. "How long will that take?"

Hermione shook her head. "It could be hours or minutes."

"Any other options?" Harry asked.

"Search every town near the Norwegian capital."

They got to work. Hermione already had most of the pieces she needed for the spell. The idea, she explained as she worked, had come from The Snow Queen which now lay at the bottom of the pile of her research.  
After Hermione realized that there was no way to know where he' d gone, something about the magic mirror in the book going into people's eyes gave her the idea to try to merge the spells and be able to see what Draco could see. What she was trying to create was a sort of replica of the Evil Queen's mirror from Snow White.  
Hermione was convinced there was a way to do it. After all, witches and wizards came up with new charms all the time, but now there was limited time.

In the library she grabbed the first helpful books she saw. Among them were _History of Enchanted Mirrors, Two-Way-Mirror Maker Guide_ , _The Art of Combining Spells_ , and _Magical Traces_. The research could take days, but they didn't want to risk that long. For all Harry knew (and most people going along with him were convinced of) it was already too late. They were working with minutes.

"We need a mirror," Hermione ordered Harry. Neville and Ron were helping her sort through the ingredients left over from the powerful heat charms in a small wooden bowl, occasionally running to fetch more from the potions lab. It had probably only been half an hour since they started mixing, but to Harry it felt like an eternity. Astoria was mixing.  
Hermione kept glancing at her, but not with pity. She was waiting for something.

Harry rummaged through the night stand, pushing aside several dreamless sleep vials. When he found nothing, he ran back to Myrtle's bathroom.

"Whoa," Harry gasped and halted at the door, not having noticed the shards sprawled around the wet floor before. He'd been too busy focusing on forcing answers out of Myrtle. Harry had planned to break the mirror himself. Carefully, he picked up a book-sized shard from the floor.

"Draco broke it," Myrtle told him.

Harry jumped at the sound of her voice. "Huh?"

"Just before the ball. Draco was angry at his parents and at you. He punched the mirror."

Harry didn't reply. Instead, he eyed the shards again and removed his scarf. It was too hot for it now.

* * *

In the distance Draco could see it—a small muggle village. It was all vivid now. The structure of the buildings and the twists of the trees looked more familiar than ever. Though it was not yet in visible, Draco could practically feel the veil caress his face.

"Almost there," the man said.

Draco placed a hand on his chest, taking in each heartbeat. "Indeed."

* * *

Hermione was done.

The last ingredient was a DNA sample, which was simple enough to find. Ron searched Draco's closet and plucked a single whitish-blond hair sample from a black robe. Harry felt nostalgic, like in second year when they made the polyjuice potion with zero experience, but—somehow—they were certain it would work. It was Hermione, after all. It would work.

They sat in a circle on the floor, the mirror shard just in front Astoria who had stopped mixing. Ron added the hair into the mixture. It dissolved into the thick, silvery substance and Astoria mixed it once more. Everyone held their breath when Hermione took the bowl and gently tipped it until a few drops splattered on the broken shard.  
Smoke swirled above it before it was sucked in like a graceful tornado.

Hermione held it up for all to see. The mirror had lost its purpose, the reflecting qualities morphed into pitch black nothing, like staring at coal, all except the silvery cloud that glided over the blackness like mist. It resembled Trelawney's crystal balls.

"Show me Draco," Hermione ordered.

Harry bit his lip and waited. A second passed. Two. Ten.

"Show me Draco," Hermione tried again.

Nothing.

"Show me what Draco sees."

More fog.

She sighed, put the mirror down, and opened the book again.

"It has to rhyme," she explained, slamming the book shut. "Sort of like the magic mirrors in most fairy tales. You know, _mirror, mirror on the wall._ "

"What?" Ron said.

"Muggle fairy tales, Ron. The evil queen's mirror in Snow White would only show her what she wanted if it rhymed."

"That's ridiculous," Neville said.

"It might work," Harry said. The more the black mirror swirled with empty fog, the more his pulse raced. _Draco is fine. Draco is alive._

They were quite for a moment before Harry said, "Mirror, mirror show and tell where in Norway Draco fell."

Seconds passed. Again, nothing.

"Maybe it didn't like it," Ron said. "Magic mirror let me through, and see Draco's point of view."

Nothing.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Astoria's voice was faint, and it wasn't a question.

Silence encompassed them. The silence of death. Seconds turned into minutes as they stared at the shard in Hermione's hand, waiting for nothing. Expecting nothing. How could he have been so blind? So stupid? The castle had completely melted. Outside and in here the floor was nothing but puddles and Luna was probably up and walking, looking for Neville.  
Draco Malfoy was dead. Long dead.

It was all his fault, no matter what Astoria said. Maybe he didn't create the curse, but he helped it grow. The one thing that seemed impossible—Malfoy trusting him and more. Being his friend. Laughing at the same stupid jokes. Walking with him, Ron, and Hermione in the halls like it was the most natural thing in the world.  
Even when he started hanging out with Luna and Neville without Harry, Draco not being there at lunch felt wrong. Like a piece of a structure was missing. Maybe he never was or never would've been as close to Malfoy as he was with the others, but he needed him to be here, sitting in the circle with them. Not wondering if he was dead, but rather using the mirror to track down a random nobody in Arendelle, not the extinguished hope of his friend's life.

The stupidest memory flashed in Harry's mind.

 _He'd been walking down the hall with Draco, Ron, and Hermione. Whatever the argument was, it was irrelevant now, but Hermione had called him Draco. She'd been doing it for a while, they all had, but it was the first time Harry took notice.  
In that moment Harry found himself wondering where this would take them—if Draco would be with them after the curse was solved. Would they see each other during breaks? Maybe they could go to that upcoming quidditch game at the stadium this year. He was Draco now, not Malfoy._

 _Then, there was that weird presence, like a light tap on his head._

 _Harry realized they were all staring at him. He'd spaced out for who knows how long._

 _"What is it?" Hermione asked._

 _Draco's lips were twitching upwards. "He's thinking about—"_

 _"Hey. Hey. Hey," Harry glared. "I thought we agreed you'd stay out of our heads."_

 _Draco smiled for what seemed like the first time in ages. "It's not my fault your brain is about as complicated as a potato,_ Harry _."_

How long had they been sitting here? Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, but it was still there. It was hard to breathe and his eyes burned.

Without warning or sound, tears spilled down his face. Everyone was still staring at Hermione and the mirror. Hermione, in turn, was almost glaring at Astoria.

"Mate?" Ron said, finally looking at him.

Harry wanted to stop, to wipe them away, but everyone had already turned to look. Hermione's eyes widened and she jumped up, mirror in hand. Harry thought she was about to hug him like she always did during the dark months after the war.

She grabbed Harry's hands firmly just as he was about to wipe the tears away and caught the drops with the mirror.

The fog on the glass began to swirl faster, the silver colors flickering. Vivid colors bled through—trees, rocks, small houses.

Harry heard an unfamiliar voice, "Almost there," a man said.

Then, a voice he thought had been silenced forever, "indeed," Draco replied.

Astoria took large gulps of air, as if she hadn't been breathing for the past hour, "he's alive," she kept saying between gasps.

Harry looked at Hermione.

"Tears of heartfelt grief," she explained. "The last ingredient—love."

* * *

 **A/N:** **Okay so let's hope I spit out the next chapter as fast as I did this one. Anyway, that last scene was actually going to go a bit differently-it was Astoria's tears that would activate the mirror, but instead I decided to go with one of my usual themes; friendship.**

 **Literally, that was the plan until my fingers hit the keyboard. The characters don't listen to me.**

 **Thoughts? Will they get to Draco on time? Dun Dun Dun...**

 **Have a good one!**

 **-Laura**


	20. Chilled Legacy XX: The Search Part 2

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews!  
Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chilled Legacy XX**

What happened dawned on Astoria before it did Harry—Hermione had used them. She knew the mirror wasn't going to work without the last ingredient.  
Hermione had _wanted_ Astoria to cry.  
Harry forced himself to stop and wiped furiously at his face. In the end, it didn't matter who added the ingredient anyhow.

He felt used. Used, but relieved. Astoria was too busy to be anything but adrenaline pumped, helping Hermione map the exact location and running back and forth informing the headmistress of what was happening. Maybe when all this was over she would slap Hermione for scaring her to death, or hug her for being a genius, or—depending on how things went—go back to being a numb ragdoll.  
The young slytherin hadn't had time to cry, rejoice, or worry. None of them had. Her sole focus since Draco's voice echoed in the mirror was on finding him. Her Draco. Gripping the hope of rescuing him again had fixed whatever had been broken or frozen inside her. Draco was alive and that was all she needed.

McGonagall agreed to lend them her fireplace so they could floo to Astoria's mansion. Astoria, who had family in Norway. From there they would use the family portkey to arrive in Norway. Then fly, floo, run or do whatever it took to get there on time.  
McGongall had wanted to come, but it wasn't even hours after the castle had melted that the ministry had arrived to inspect the scene. There was no time to look for Lucius or Narcissa, and it was believed they'd gone back to the mansion to search for Draco.

Harry was the only one still processing it all, clumsily following orders. Eventually Hermione gave up and gave him the easiest job—telling her what Draco saw.

"The colors!" Hermione was yelling. "What was the order?"

"Red with two stripes," Harry answered. "Yellow…or gold."

"He said outskirts," Ron told her. "So they're not quite there yet."

Harry had only seen it for half a second—how long Draco had looked at it. The flag of whatever town Draco had run to was red with two either yellow or golden stripes. It took ten whole minutes for Hermione to find it, and by that time Draco was blocks away from his destination.

"Aust-Agder," Hermione told them. "Ironically there is a small town by the name of Arendal within the county."

"Let's move," Astoria said, and the others followed her lead out of the room of requirements.

"Malfoy," she panted as they ran up the stairs to the headmistress' office. "If you don't die I'm going to kill you."

* * *

The most current, yet irrelevant mystery that might never be answered before his death was how he was still alive now.  
Draco hadn't slept or even eaten in more than 48 hours. At the party, it was the potion keeping him alert. Afterwards, the adrenaline. And now, everything.

 _I'm going to die,_ Draco thought. _I'm actually going to die._

It was the swishing of the leaves on the trees, the wind brushing against his face, and the chirping of the birds that kept him awake. He wanted to miss none of it.  
His hand hadn't left his chest, Draco unconsciously counting the beats of his heart. How could he have ever taken a single one for granted? Wasted a single opportunity to find forgiveness or be kind to others?  
Looking back, most all the beats had been used not only selfishly, but cruelly. There was no hope for him. He was too far gone.

"You alright, kid?" The driver had turned to look at him.

Draco was tired. His limbs were on fire, his bladder was killing him, and his stomach was trying to eat itself. Worse of all, the pain from the stab wound was finally sinking in.

 _Thump. Thump. Thump._

But he was alive.

Draco ignored the question. "It's pretty here."

"Town is even better. Lots of fishing, kayaking, tourism. The outskirts of anything gets boring."

It became quite again for a while. Draco could feel his eyes demanding to close, but he thought of Luna and they widened again. He glanced around his surroundings again. The houses appeared much closer and he saw a couple signs as they passed a small flag.

"Place with a red veil is only about a mile away now," the man told him.

And it was true. Minutes later the wagon was slowing. He wanted to offer the man some sort of payment, but for once he was broke. Either way, the man never asked or even hinted at payment. Why couldn't he have been more like that man during his 17 wasted years?

"Good luck, kid," he said as Draco hopped off.

As if to demonstrate his exhaustion, his body gave way as soon as his feet hit the ground. The man didn't notice the fall, and the near-death adrenaline helped Draco hoist himself up. He groaned, partially wishing he could just stay down there.

 _Don't think about it and it'll be over before you know it._

"Thank you," Draco said, glancing at the veil, then back to the wagon. The man gave him one final smile and drove off, still thinking Draco was a drug addict.

He took a deep breath and faced the veil. Slowly, Draco clutched it, knowing that once he stepped through, that was it. The last shred of doubt would leave him.  
For the last time, he rested in the doubt—his mother's hand caressing his hair, his dad's hand on his shoulder, Astoria's smile, inside jokes with Harry and Ron, Hermione's side glare when he defeated her intellect, Luna and Neville's laughing ringing in his ears.

Draco threw the veil open and stepped in.

* * *

 _Ginny couldn't technically tell him what to do, but she was persuasive. Harry now shoved the clothes in his bag more hesitantly, doubts hissing in his ears. Ginny noticed._

" _Harry, I didn't mean to make you feel bad. I'm just worried. I mean it hasn't been that long since—"_

" _I'm okay now." Harry looked right at her, but it still sounded like he was reassuring himself. "I'm good now. I can't stay locked up in the burrow forever..."_

" _It's not_ forever _. But it's too soon. McGonagall can find another undercover Auror or whatever. Don't be reckless!"_

" _I'm fine!" Harry shouted without meaning to. Ginny only flinched with her eyes._

 _Unsure why he lost his temper so quickly, he took a deep breath. They were silent for a moment before Harry said, "I'm so sorry."_

 _He was certain he was fine, but deep down Harry knew his girlfriend was right—he was being hasty. The truth was, he wanted to be fine. And going on this mission would make him fine, or at least prove he was._

 _The nightmares hadn't disappeared. It had barely been five months since the war had ended, but Harry had slowly begun to get better—panic attacks lessened, he started eating again, yesterday he played quidditch with Ron—but the nightmares remained. His last nervous breakdown was a month ago. Harry had woken at four in the morning, screaming in a cold sweat after dreaming about Cedric Tonks, Lupin, Dumbledore, Sirius…everyone._

It's all your fault _, they'd chanted._ It's all my fault _, Harry thought for hours on end. And it was. They hadn't just died protecting the wizarding world, but him too. Voldemort had wanted him, not them.  
It felt like ages until Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were able to calm him down, but that was a month ago. He was fine now._

* * *

Harry wasn't fine. He felt sick. Seasick without the boat, the ground beneath his feet unsteady like his breaths. All the while he was running with them through the corridors of Astoria's mansion he could feel something crumbling in his chest.

Yet, he didn't give in or lose his mind like that day at the burrow. At first he thought it was simply experiencing more death—knowing someone whose future had ended because of the darkness in the world, a friend especially. That empty hollow feeling that never quite disappeared.  
Yes, they had to save Draco, but that wasn't it. In his state, he was barely useful to the mission and he more than trusted Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Astoria to reach Draco on time.  
But he had to be there.

Though his thought to be extinguished anxiety was coiling around him, threatening to shatter his insides, Harry kept running, mirror in hand.

Astoria's mansion wasn't as eerie as Draco's. The floor was a shimmering white marble with grey stone walls. It had a modern touch to it with the beautiful silver chandeliers and wall-sized windows. All the light in the house allowed for serval plants to blossom, mainly roses.

Still, the old paintings, statues, claw-like trees swishing outside, and the unlit corridors made Harry feel more on edge.

They waited in Astoria's room as she searched for the key that would open the door down the hall—where the portkey was kept. Harry's attention was momentarily caught by the picture on her nightstand; her and Daphne during her first year, giggling and leaning just over Draco and Theo's unconscious faces in the common room, which Harry suspected were resting atop history of magic books. Harry glanced at the sunflower in a small vase next to the picture before continuing with mirror duty.  
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville held their breaths as Draco stepped through the veil. Harry watched as Draco pleaded with a young, blond man to end his life. He sat Draco down and asked him to explain. They already knew, but any final doubts were confirmed; Draco was there to save Luna and end the curse. It was the only way.

The man was silent for a moment, then nodded. Harry saw spots in both his and Draco's vision.

"V isn't here yet. I cannot proceed with anything without his order. Plus, it is not really my job. Once he is here, I'm sure he will do it."

"When will he be back?" Draco asked.

"Shortly. He only went to buy mirror polish."

For the first time, Draco took a long look around the room. There were mirrors everywhere. Small, big, old, new, broken, in the making. He caught his reflection on one of the larger, slightly worn mirrors. He looked dead already.

* * *

Draco wasn't surprised—with how he felt, he'd expected to look worse.

Jon suggested he clean up, and Draco took the offer even though it seemed pointless.  
In the small wooden bathroom, he attempted to seal the stab wound, but the pain suddenly flared to life and his wand hand was shaking viciously. Draco took off the cape entirely and gently proceeded with the shirt.

Blood. Lots of Blood.

The cape was intact, but the shirt sleeve was almost completely soaked, more pooling out now with the sudden movements and lack of coverage. Draco gave the wand a try again, but only partially sealed the wound. He settled for wrapping the now thumb-sized stab in toilet paper, clenching his teeth the whole time. Then, gently dabbed at the stains covering his chest and arm, washed off most of the fresh blood from his sleeve and poorly spell-cleaned and dried the rest.

There was a knock at the door.

"You alright, Draco?"

How long had he been in there? The pain from his arm came in sometimes sharp twinges and dull pounding from the inside of the wound. "Great," Draco replied, unable to hide the sarcasm.

He finished up by washing the blood off his hands, then the sweat from his face and hair, and finally putting his clothes back on. Just when he was about to step out, Draco noticed the tear on his shirt where the sword had penetrated it. Gently, he iced it back together, snowflakes tangling with one another.

"You look much better," Jon noted as Draco stepped out. He thought of telling him about the stab wound. Draco was sure Jon could easily fix it, but what was the point? The pain was only somewhat unbearable, and V would make it end soon anyway.

V, Jon explained after Draco sat again, was the burly man from last time, and Annette was the red haired woman. Draco didn't really care enough to ask what V was short for, so he quietly waited for Jon to keep talking.  
When he didn't, Draco made different shaped snowflakes and swirled them around his fingertips, no longer afraid of accidentally freezing anything—whatever froze would melt after he was killed anyway.

"Do you hate them?" Jon asked.

"Huh?"

"Your ice powers. Do you hate them?"

Draco blinked. For some reason he imagined Jon was referring to the golden trio, which of course made no sense. Jon had no idea he associated with them, let alone had an excruciatingly complicated relationship with the lot.  
He'd never thought about that before. The simple answer was _yes_. Hating the powers was easy, like blaming a beer bottle for making you drunk, cake for making you fat, or your teacher for making you fail.  
But the powers didn't make Draco freeze the school or Luna; Draco had done that on his own. He stared down at the different twists and swirls that made each snowflake unique, trying to imagine meeting Jon months ago and having been offered immediate training. The only word he could think of to describe the situation was _cool._ It would've been amazing to yield and master the unique talent—be able to create more things similar to the sunflowers patterns he'd made in Myrtle's bathroom. The powers were special. An art he suspected was originally made for good until humanity corrupted its beauty.

"No, I just hate myself," Draco said, unembarrassed. He was going to die, there was no need to dance around the truth. And Draco felt strangely comfortable around Jon. He reminded him of an older prefect when he was a first year. The way he would stare at Draco with both concern and fake annoyance was too young to be fatherly. Brotherly perhaps? Being an only child made it hard to tell.

"Most people like to point fingers," Jon acknowledged. Draco didn't mention that that had been him all his life until months ago. "You say there was a prophecy? It called you ruler of Arendelle?"

Draco nodded.

"Then you must've been born with them. That is to say, someone was cursed in your family centuries before. Arendelle has much history with this curse. First queen Ingrid, then Elsa."

"I don't know anyone in my family like me."

"Neither did they. Few have the curse, and of those few, even fewer develop the powers to a full extent—mostly just harmless snowflakes and cold hands here and there," Jon explained. "What sets the magic off is a frozen heart. A sort of growing darkness that develops in the individual, turning magic that was already there into a weapon of mass destruction, much like an obscurial.

"You were right in your deduction," Jon said sadly. "Only way to stop it is by unfreezing the heart or killing its host."

Draco almost laughed. Oh how he loved being right now of all times.

There was a hint of hope in Jon's voice; like maybe he believed Draco's heart could unfreeze from here until V arrived. Draco wasn't about to let him keep that hope.

"Yes, I thought I could beat it—I thought my heart _was_ melting. For a while, I felt happy, like I could earn everyone's forgiveness."

Jon blinked and Draco explained. He told him about being a Death Eater, showed him the faded and scratched up mark. Jon didn't react like Draco expected—no shock followed by a glare, only a short nod as he waited for Draco to continue.

His voice was hoarse and tired, but Draco explained wanting friends and doing everything he saw fit to make them forgive him, and finished with Harry's outburst.

"It was stupid of me. Really stupid. I mean it had only been a few short weeks; I couldn't have expected him, Ron, or Hermione to be my friends by then."

Jon shrugged. "Annette and I became close friends in three days. Depends on the person. You saw something change, right? Perhaps the outburst was in a moment of rage. Perhaps they are your friends."

While he did believe Harry felt somewhat bad for it, Draco didn't think the guilt was overall genuine. Maybe after this Harry, Ron, and Hermione would forgive him, but maybe not. He was here for Luna anyway.

"You can't earn forgiveness, I'm afraid. It's either freely given or forever unobtainable. Actions and words can't be taken back or replaced by a million good ones. The deed is done. They either show mercy or they don't."

"That's it then? It was always hopeless."

"No, you acknowledge the mistake—the evil, and seek pardon. Whether they give it or not is up to them. None of us humans are perfect, are we? This Luna and Neville you speak of, they asked nothing of you did they?"

Draco stared at his hands, then at his death mark. What did it matter now? Jon was making sense. Everything he said echoed truth, but it was too late for him.

Finally, Jon saw this was true. Draco's spirits were the same as when he began the lecture. Maybe because Draco already knew what Jon had said to be true—he learned it mere hours ago, but he had no reason to believe that this truth would make everything okay anymore.

* * *

"Can we apparate?" Astoria asked.

The portkey had taken them to an even larger mansion somewhere in Norway—Harry hadn't paid attention to the conversation. He'd been too busy watching the mirror, completely mesmerized by Draco's snowflakes.  
How could something so destructive be made harmless? Harry found himself staring at his own hand momentarily, wishing he could do that, before listening to the final words of Jon and Draco's conversation.

Astoria abruptly cut off her startled relatives. One younger child was shouting something Harry recognized to be his name, even when heavily accented with an unintelligible follow-up sentence.  
 _"Det er Harry Potter, gutten som bodde!"_

"We're not that far off. it's dangerous. I'm not much good with it, and I've never been there physically. But," Hermione said, face hard. "I say we try."

"Maybe not like this," Neville said as they gathered in a circle. "It'll only take a few to stop him. If we all apparate to the wrong place or lose limbs in the process it won't work. I say we split. Who here can apparate?"

"I've been practicing with Harry all summer," Ron said.

"Harry?" Neville said.

"I might survive doing it alone."

"Well I've never tried it, and I doubt Astoria has either," Neville said.

"I go with Hermione, you go with Ron and Harry?" Astoria suggested. "I don't think Harry can handle advanced magic right now."

"I can do it, I'm good now."

Harry was still mulling over what had been said through the mirror. Everyone had heard, but none had said anything. These were all things they could talk to Draco about _after_ they saved him. Now they had to focus on the mission.  
But Harry could see it had affected them, especially Ron and Hermione.  
They were more determined, saddened, and enraged; whether with at Draco for his plan, at themselves, or both, Harry wasn't sure. Astoria had started cursing Draco's name more often between sentences, but she hadn't broken down yet.

It was different for Harry. None of the others had been confused about their motives, but he had. Now with the full picture, Harry could rescue Draco with clarity. The panic was gone, the sadness swallowed, and the fear stored as engine fuel.  
Draco couldn't die like that.  
Draco Malfoy couldn't die believing he would never be forgiven—that they would never be friends. Dying somehow thinking that Harry could be forgiven for all the lives he destroyed but he couldn't.  
It would drive him mad forever.

"I'm good," Harry repeated. "The more split up the groups are, the better, right?"

He shared a look with the group. They nodded and a loud _pop_ was heard before Harry's body was trying to fit into a rather small tube, eyes sinking into his head as he flew through the air.  
 _The last one to save Draco is a rotten egg._

* * *

Annette and V greeted him with sparkling eyes at first, probably thinking he'd come here to train. Their faces dropped once Jon speedily retold the story in fluent Norwegian.

V could no longer look at him. Any trace of emotion left his face, his burly features seeming to be sculpted from marble as he made stiff, lifeless movements. Annette said V hated this part of the job. She couldn't look at Draco either.

"V is quick," Jon told him. "Just one swing. You won't feel a thing—I promise. Plus, we'll numb the body."

Draco didn't even nod to show he heard what was being said. It felt like he'd been waiting for ages with Jon, but now it was happening too quickly.  
Without having to be told, Jon was right beside Draco the whole time. They gave him a black liquid which smelled much like grape wine. Draco didn't ask what was in it—he didn't say anything.

"Once you take it will numb your body in minutes. I can remove the effects if you say the words," Jon said. Draco wasn't sure if it was because he still wanted Draco to back out last minute, or if this was all standard procedure for all the cases.  
"The rulers are usually ruthless, revenge consumed people," Jon all but whispered. "I still believe you can be different."

"Stop," Draco said.

Jon didn't argue or speak anymore.

V and Annette brought out a large wooden table and V told Draco to drink.

It felt electric. Draco's biggest fear of being struck by lightning came true as the potion slid down his throat. It's like he imagined it—shivering tendons, a burning feeling in his chest, sparks in his vision, and then it stopped.  
Whether that's how being electrocuted felt, Draco would never know. He would never know how kissing Astoria felt either—which he would've been a million times more electrifying—or how it felt to hold his first child (a boy, of course), standing at the wedding altar…seeing his first grey hair.

The shivers melted down to his feet. V caught him and gently placed his head on the table.

They began to speak amongst themselves in Norwegian again and, before he knew it, ear muffs were being placed on his head, completely—and possibly magically—soundproof.

Draco couldn't turn his head, the only things he could move ye not completely feel were his toes, some of his fingers, and mouth. Jon moved to his visible right side to show him, though he could not feel it, that he would be holding his hand the whole time. Definitely the weirdest execution he could've imagined.  
Normally he supposed there would be a type of painless potion, but given the specifics in the curse, the whole fiasco was necessary. It could've been worse. Draco didn't know why, but Jon and the others cared about him. It wasn't cold-hearted like he'd pictured this moment would be.

Draco didn't want to see it, but he caught it in one of the many mirrors' reflection—V sharpening a long, thick sword, sending small sparks flying to the sides. Sharp enough to kill a cow with one swing.

He couldn't force his eyelids to close. Jon took notice and gently pulled them down just as he saw V lift the sword.

The only things he could hear or feel were the thuds of his heart.

It would seconds. Maybe less.

 _Thump._

 _Thump._

 _Thump._

* * *

 **A/N:** **A/N: So I made this chapter a bit longer than the others. I thought for sure this would be the last chapter (not counting the bonus chapters I'm adding after the end...sort of like an epilogue?), but decided it needed to pause here before the story continued. Anyway, thank you for reading and I'll try to update again soon. The story feels a bit dark right now, but I felt it needed to get there for me to exercise the theme.**

 **Have an awesome week!**


	21. Chilled Legacy XXI: Finale

**A/N: Tadaa-the last chapter.  
Well, I'm adding a bonus epilogue after this, but this is technically the end since the bonus chapter is pretty much just me having attachment issues with this story. Plus, the other chapter is also quite short (and finished, I just have to edit)  
Anyway,**

 **THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS (please tell me what you thought of the end?)  
Hope you enjoy!**

 **-Lauralydney**

* * *

It was dark.

Harry had barely glanced at it for more than the blink of an eye, but that was just it. It was _longer_ than the blink of an eye and the mirror was still dark. He didn't stop to think, instead pulled harder at his foot.  
He'd landed almost exactly where he aimed too—Draco was the push of a door away. Now if he could only get his foot out of the toilet and run to the other room everything would be okay.

Harry screamed loud and unintelligible word, yanking clumsily. Some of which he was sure were _stop_ or _don't kill him_ , or just plain screams, hoping the killers could hear him. Finally, he pulled loose and tumbled out of the mirror shop's bathroom.  
Harry didn't stop to check the rest of his limbs. If his foot hadn't been attached to his body, he would've run out without it.

Which room was it? Harry couldn't hear any talking. Why was the mirror still black? Everything was moving slower. Like time was usually at the speed a plummeting acorn, but suddenly changed to the landing of a feather. He couldn't think straight, let alone remember which of the three doors lead to the execution room. Harry lunged for the closest just in time to see the sword come down on Draco.  
Time didn't slow in that millisecond.  
Time stopped.

The missing glass from the reptile cage, the shattered cup of wine, and the blowing up of Aunt Marge were nothing compared to the level of emotion that shot through Harry in that millisecond.

He hadn't finished shouting "no!" when the sword was thrown backwards and shattered like thin glass, Harry's hand still outstretched.

* * *

 _Thump_

 _Thump_

 _Thump_

Nothing was happening. Sure, Draco wouldn't be able to feel it, but maybe he was already dead? Slowly, he began to sense the anxiety creep up then turn to panic when he was unable to physically react to anything.  
Was it always going to be dark? He at least expected to feel something. Then again, considering how he lived his life, burning fire was probably more along the lines of what he expected. Maybe the dark nothingness was what he wanted to believe would be there forever.

 _Thump_

Nope. Still alive.

Had all those thoughts really only taken a heartbeat?

Draco saw it. A bright light as the veil of his eyes was lifted, followed by an angel. She was beautiful, with long locks of honey brown hair that curled at the bottom, and lips in a constant pout that reminded Draco of a strawberry.

Feeling returned to his body and the first thing he felt as he stood shakily was the quick and painful burning on his cheek.

The angel had slapped him.

Then, she stared long and hard into his eyes before throwing herself at him, sobbing. Her body weighed heavier than ever before.

"Astoria?"

Draco sighed and hugged her tighter, but it didn't feel tight enough. His muscles felt like lead. He blinked, trying to clear away the blurriness of the room. Hermione stood about a meter in front of them beside V who looked on the verge of a heart attack.

"Oh thank God," Hermione said, leaning back against the wall.

Draco tried to hold Astoria tighter again, ignoring the growing pain in his arm. They stayed like that for a full minute, the room completely silent.  
A small crackle like the embers of a fire place echoed in the room before being replaced by a thunder-like sound. Draco broke apart from Astoria and the boards of the ceiling behind them snapped.

"Stop!" two voices shouted as they stood up from the debris.

Draco and Astoria swung around, facing a dust covered and possibly injured Neville and Ron.

"Stop," Neville said again.

"We've stopped," Jon assured them, finally snapping out of shock. Draco followed a close second, but the room still looked blurry and…dark?

"I'm not dead?"

"You're not dead," Jon assured him, corners of his lips turning up slightly. The young man still looked a bit shaken, his smile a mixture of relief with a ton of confusion.

He moved forward to help Ron and Neville check for injuries. "Any more guests coming?" he asked looking at the hole in the ceiling.  
Ron and Neville were panting and shaking dust of their robes in the corner, mumbling things like _thank Merlin_ , and _bloody hell_.

"That's about it," Hermione told them. "Sorry for startling you, V. Didn't mean to apparate right in front of you."

Neither V nor Annette understood most of what was being said, so Hermione turned and spoke to Jon instead, telling them about how the school had melted and using the mirror to find this place. Jon translated, stopping several times to ask numerous questions, most pertaining to the mirror.

Hermione hesitated when naming the ingredients.

Draco, unable to take most of it in, looked at Harry who hadn't said a word for the last five minutes.

He was staring at the shattered remains of some sort of metal on the floor.

 _The sword._

Hermione stopped talking and Jon told her about how Harry broke the sword.

"Kid just walks in," Jon explains excitedly. "Sword flies out of V's hand and shatters like glass. I've never seen anything like it. I mean, I've heard of wand less magic that powerful before, but to break a sword? _Never_ —okay, maybe I've heard of a similar case, but that was centuries ago with Queen Elsa—"

"I don't have to die?" Draco asked.

Everyone turned to look at him, even Harry.

"No," Astoria said, gripping his hand. "You don't, idiot."

Draco tried to grip tighter but couldn't. "Luna?"

"She's fine," Harry said and stepped closer inside the room and walked straight towards Draco. It hit him for the first time that Harry must've heard everything he told Jon. Draco felt shame, even in his physically pained state. He looked so weak, so pathetic. Vulnerable.  
 _Maybe it's not too late to take it all back. It's not impossible for him to believe I lied about it—that I felt no hurt, only anger. I don't need his pity—_

Harry hugged him—awkwardly.

"I do forgive you. Please forgive me too," Harry said before pulling away. "Maybe we are or aren't right now, but we can be friends. I want to be."

"That goes for me too," Hermione said.

"What she said," Ron mumbled.

Draco felt it, the same thudding sensation at his chest from when he dropped his guard to kneel beside Luna's body. Most of the frozen heart had melted then, but staring at the concerned faces of his friends took away the last thin peel that had kept him from fully ending the curse.

Fully ending the curse?

"You said Hogwarts had melted? Luna is fine?" Draco asked no one in particular.

"Yes," Hermione answered, smiling. "You broke the curse long ago."

"But it's only melted now," Draco said, placing a hand on his chest to signify the heart. "The only other way was…"

Draco stopped. The room was getting dark.

The weakness that had begun to grow long ago hit him full force. His skin felt cool and clammy as the room became darker, almost black. He wanted to yell, to tell them what was happening, but the panic of realization stopped squeezed his lungs shut. Draco felt so sleepy.

"Sword sacrifice," was all he managed to croak, feeling the blood drip from the open wound.

They stared at him for a second that lasted a decayed, eyes beginning to widen. Draco's body fell forward and he was engulfed by darkness.

* * *

Harry had never been in a muggle hospital, and frankly never wanted to be in one again. He didn't trust medicine without magic, but it was the closest thing they had.  
The muggles were nice, but Harry hated them at the moment.

It wasn't until Draco's body fell to the ground that Harry understood his last conscious words: _sword sacrifice_. He'd seen all the blood in the bathroom when Draco had tried to heal the wound, but Harry thought he'd succeeded. Why had he looked away? The bloody idiot simply wrapped the rest up in toilet paper, as they came to notice after ripping his shirt open when they saw blood blossoming on the sleeve.  
He'd lost and had been losing too much blood.

Draco hadn't broken the curse; Blaise had. His insignificant stab had been slowly killing Draco.

Why couldn't they see him?

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Astoria listened as Jon translated what the doctors were saying about blood transfusion, but this information was nothing new to Hermione.  
Jon had already apparated to Draco's room a couple times and did what he could to heal him faster, but he was no healer.

Draco Malfoy, pure-blood-sort-of-ex-muggle-hater, was in the hands of the muggles now. Harry played with the buttons on his shirt, waiting. Hoping.

Maybe it was the mutual fear and exhaustion, but for some reason he had been the only one to figure it out. Hermione was the first to ask, and Harry was quick to answer. "The snow melted because he was already dying from blood loss, however gradually." He looked at Astoria. "What if it was a prediction of this stupid prophecy? Maybe it's already too late."

That was the only grim comment they could make. The world felt to ironic for any seriousness in this situation after visitors and patients started giving them funny looks. They stared down at their tarnished dress robes and ball gowns. Astoria and Hermione had ripped the heels off their shoes long ago.  
They were so scared it was funny. Draco was had quite possibly been killed by a pinprick of a sword.

Ron and Harry were the first to laugh at their outfits. Soon, everyone joined in.

"They probably think we're drug addicts."

"Or washed up actors."

Hermione and Astoria's mascara and hair made their once beautiful combo look like something from a possessed dolls horror movie.

"I apparated into a toilet," Harry said.

They laughed louder, receiving more looks.

"I broke their shit ceiling, and probably nearly broke Draco's neck."

"So this is the third time he's almost died today?" Astoria asked.

"No, it's the third time he's almost died in the last hour," Neville answered.

After a few minutes, the laughing died down and exhaustion hit full force. None slept. Instead, they talked quietly and waited. Hermione let Astoria rest her head on her shoulder.

"He'll be okay," she reassured her. And, in a last attempt at lightening the mood. "But I still say you dump the snow princess."

Astoria answered her seriously, "I can see why he has the powers. I don't think the curse picks a family member at random."

"Explain?"

She held out her hand, imagining something in it. "If you hold snow long enough it can make your hands numb. It burns and it sucks. Being near it without a certain number of layers is more than unpleasant. But it was once water—life giving and unpredictable, unlike the snow it is now. The world made it cold."  
She squeezed her fists closed. "But if you hit it at just the right temperature, it becomes water again, much like Draco."

Hours passed and Jon hadn't returned.

Harry and the rest fell asleep, and he nearly hit Jon in the face from when he woke them up, still thinking he was getting Blaise back for stabbing Draco.

Finally, the words they'd all been waiting to hear.

"He's alive—and awake. You may see him now."

* * *

When Draco opened his eyes after the second time of thinking he would die today, he wanted to shut them again. _What was that smell?_ It burning and chemical. Somehow he knew he was in a muggle hospital. Maybe he heard someone mention it and it stuck during his drugged state.

Jon looked at him from the chair when he groaned.

"Let's stop dying today, Draco."

 _Please._

"The others are outside. If you want, I can tell them to come in now."

Draco was too out of it. Outside? Who would be outside a muggle hospital waiting for him? He didn't want to see his friends; they'd probably just jot down mental gossip notes. "I don't want to see Crabbe and Goyle," he said groggily. He tried to lift his arm to rub his eye, but something pulled it back down. "Pansy. Blaise."

"Who?" Jon asked. Then, he mouthed the next sentence slowly. "Harry, your girlfriend, and the others are outside—some asleep, but I'm sure they wouldn't mind being woken to the good news. Your heart stopped once, but they used these weird machine things to give you a sort of jolt. Better not mention the heart thing to any of them though. They're worried enough as it is."

Today's events flooded back to him, and Draco's eyes shot open all the way.

"But first I have something to show you."

"Can't move."

"You won't have to get up. They did a blood transfusion—I was the donor, so I guess we're blood brothers now in more than one sense. Also, muggles have some terrifying medical instruments. The stuck a needle in my arm."

Draco didn't know what a blood transfusion was, but it didn't sound good.

He looked down at his arm, which was connected to a long red tube. _Please don't be a needle._ He felt like passing out again.

"You're a descendant of Ingrid's bloodline, which kind of explains the hair. Though, your face resembles Elsa more."

"What?"

Jon scooted his chair next to Draco's bed. "Okay, I guess I should explain from the beginning."

"What?" Draco said again. He wanted to see Astoria and the others.

"Arendelle—the wizarding side of it anyway—is a small community. There are few people of royal descent in the area. My job, along with V and Annette's', is to help people of royal descent born with the powers. Though, most of the bloodline has died out, so now we only train those cursed first hand with uncontrollable powers—not all of them snow or even related to Elsa. Annette does the finding, I do the training, and V the killing when things go wrong."

"Where are you going with this?"

"Aren't you going to ask how I train them?"

"Fine," Draco tried to snap, but his throat was too dry to sound threatening. "How do you train them?"

Jon stuck out his hand and swirled his fingers around, playing with dancing snowflakes. "By showing them everything I know."

Draco's jaw dropped. "You—you're…"

"It's been forever since I've had the chance to train someone, and I've never helped anyone with my type of powers before. I know my grandfather has, but we thought that was the last of them."

Something clicked in Draco's brain, and he understood Jon's smile. "So we're like…related?"

Jon smiled wider. "I believe so. I really didn't want to have to kill my uncle, nephew, brother or whatever you are."

 _What the hell._ Draco wasn't sure how to process this information. It wasn't terrible news—Draco felt…elated? Maybe it was the drugs still in his system.  
He didn't know most of his family in person, and the only nice members he'd met were ones he'd talked to through portraits. Jon didn't look like a Malfoy except for the eyes. His face was round and he looked overly happy most of the time. Draco was willing to bet he'd be sorted into Hufflepuff.  
But, he was strangely fond of him, something which rarely occurred with any person.

Jon left to get the others. Soon, Draco's room was filled with tired, but relieved friends. They stayed with him as Jon figured out a way to legally get him out without having to mysteriously apparate.

"What are you wearing?" was the first comment, courtesy of Ron.

Draco didn't know, but he suspected more than enough of his back side was exposed. Oh, Merlin, Astoria was in the room. He looked down and reached for the blanket with his free hand. They all laughed.

"It appears to be an incomplete robe," Neville said.

"Hospital gown," Hermione corrected, helping Draco with the blanket.

"I'm wearing a what?"

To his surprise, they all began to joke about the last few hours. It made Draco feel better somehow. Yet, he could tell none of it was truly funny. He would catch them giving him relieved side glances and smiles, even Ron.

Draco laughed, though it hurt. "You apparated into a toilet?"

Harry threatened to pull his sheets down again.

The best part was when Astoria's lips met his. Draco didn't know what was happening at first, but suddenly he forgot anyone was there or watching and the beeping machine started beeping faster. After the others were done laughing, Hermione told him it was a heart monitor.

She kissed him again, this time, less seriously. The beeping increased again. Astoria was laughing too now, delighted.

Ron grabbed Hermione's hand. "Finally, something to prove he has a heart."

"Too bad we can't plug you into one of these, Weasley."

None of it felt like pity, or like they were trying to make up for a wrong. It was genuine enough for Draco to say, "thank you."

"Thank you for not dying," Harry said.

* * *

In the end, Jon couldn't figure it out and they had to leave without permission. Harry partially wanted to see the looks on the muggle's faces when they all apparated away without a trace. The sudden movement didn't do Draco too good and Neville and Ron had to catch him.

"Please don't throw up, this outfits been through enough," Ron said jokingly.

Astoria wrapped the blanket she'd stolen from the bed around him. Draco's face burned. "You saw, didn't you?"

"We all did," Jon clarified. "I didn't know anything could be whiter than your face."

They planned to stay at Jon's overnight before traveling back tomorrow. Draco, however, would stay to complete his training while things at the ministry and at Hogwarts calmed down enough for him to return.

"I'll talk to McGonagall and the minister," Hermione said. "With help from Harry, of course. I'm not sure how long it'll be, so you might have to miss the rest of the school year."

"Pity," Draco said. "What about N.E.W.T.S.?"

"Should he really be thinking about this now?" Astoria interrupted.

Hermione ignored her. "I'm sure your father can scoop up a certified teacher. McGonagall will probably let you take the exam. At the end of the year if you're up for it."

They sat in small, but cozy kitchen drinking carrot juice and eating some weird combo called Lapskaus. Harry didn't like the taste but kept quite since Jon was thrilled that most seemed to like his cooking. Draco's eyes kept fluttering, but that didn't stop him from asking pending, yet unanswerable questions.  
No, Harry didn't know what he would say to the minister, McGonagall, or even the boy's parents—they hated Harry's guts, why would they believe him? The only thing that was clear was that, at least for now, Draco couldn't go home, and frankly he didn't seem to want to.

"Don't you want to let them know you're okay at least?" Ron asked.

"Not today." He was words away from sleeping face first in his carrot juice.

Hermione shared a room with Annette while Jon and V gave them their rooms and slept on the couches. Mrs. Weasley would probably be furious with them sleeping away from home in another country without consulting her, but none worried about it until morning. Harry passed out before his head hit the pillow—or floor. He wasn't sure.

It took him a couple minutes to remember where he was in the morning. His dreams hadn't been pleasant. Everything was okay now, but it was too sudden for his mind to adjust to that truth. Though, the nightmare about Astoria's tear streaked face at Draco's funeral wasn't what woke him up.

Cold.

It was far too cold.

Harry was in a blanket burrito on the carpeted floor. His eyes shot open to find most of that carpet covered in either frost or snow. His breathing was hard and _visible._ With much effort, he undid the blankets and shakily stood up to find Draco messily sprawled on the bed, tossing and turning.

"Merlin," Harry groaned before throwing a pillow at the source, admittedly scared to get too close. "Draco!"

Draco hazily stood up, momentarily surprised to see Harry there, then, "Oh."

"Make it stop."

Draco blinked. "Are you joking or are you just that stupid? If I knew how to do that we wouldn't be here. Go get Jon if you're that cold."

Harry stepped out into the kitchen. It was still dark outside, but he could hear the birds beginning to chirp. Jon was up and about making breakfast while V's bear-like snores echoed in the living room.

"Draco froze your room," Harry all but whispered, supporting his weight on the wall. If he could feel his toes, he'd happily sleep there.

To his surprise, Jon laughed. "Amateur."

In no time and with the flick of a hand, Jon had the room back to average temperature, but neither Draco nor Harry went back to sleep after that. Harry took a long, steaming bath, attempting to return feeling to his body. It woke him up enough for him to realize he'd been a bit insensitive.

The kitchen looked clearer now that his sleepy blurriness had left. It was light out by the time he finished his bath, but the only ones awake were Jon and Draco.

"—start training after your friends leave if you'd like. But I would definitely try to contact your parents first."

"I'm a legal adult. I don't need their permission to be here or anything anymore."

"But what about vacations and trips? I don't plan to work you to death. I'm sure you'd want to see them at Christmas or Easter, or even just visit."

"That's a bit far away, isn't it? Also…I don't know if I want to see them then."

Jon was silent for a moment. "Draco, they love you. They're worried sick, I'm sure."

"You don't know that. I told you they tried to send me away—I'll send them a letter, no address."

Jon ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "I don't want to be charged for kidnapping."

Harry finally stepped in all the way, "they are worried. They went looking for you everywhere a soon as you disappeared, just like at the battle."

He felt compelled to say it. While he didn't particularly like Draco's parents, he didn't want Draco pushing them away, unable to fully clear the looks of despair on their faces. Harry would give anything to have anyone worry about him like that.

Draco glared at Harry, then sighed. "Eavesdropping as usual. Fine. I'll put the address on the letter. Happy?"

"You can come spend Christmas with us if you really don't want to go back home," Harry said, mentally pushing away the image of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's disgusted faces. "They'd love to have you as long as you don't freeze the bedrooms."

"I'm sure they would," Draco said, trying not to sound startled that he'd offered. He took a thoughtful sip of his orange juice "I guess I can't be mad at them anymore. For one, it's too exhausting. I was a menace. I would've tried to send me away too," Draco's voice became a whisper "…and I do miss them."

A memory flashed in Harry's mind of the only other time Draco had mentioned his relationship with his parents to him.

 _They were in the Great Hall when Draco had offered the trio his candy basket._

" _Why?" Ron asked._

" _I don't want it."_

 _Draco had mentioned something about them 'finally getting their shit together enough to remember to send him something'._

 _Ron shrugged and started stuffing his face. Hermione rolled her eyes and tried to restart the conversation. Harry couldn't get Draco's comment out of his mind. It made his blood boil, just like when he watched Ron argue with his parents._

" _They love you, you know," he snapped at Draco._

 _Draco was only startled by the sudden outburst for a moment before saying, "Tell me what's worse, Potter—since you're the expert on my parents now. Dead parents, or parents that don't actually want you?"_

 _Harry didn't answer._

Draco seemed less hostile towards them now, which to Harry made no sense. The last memory he had of them was being caned by Lucius.

"Sorry about the room," Draco said louder.

"Does that happen a lot?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

"At first. It's died down to only when I have nightmares and panic attacks." Draco flinched, realizing he'd said too much. Harry could tell Draco was about to take it back before Harry spoke.

"I've had those. Good thing I'm not cursed, then?"

"Good thing," Draco agreed.

* * *

The others came down for breakfast, and the rushing and joking continued. The topic of today was Draco's performance at the ball. Draco's mood and comebacks reached a higher hostility level than expected, and the talk of his singing was quickly dropped.

Draco let Jon talk all about the history of Arendelle before he showed him a few simple tricks with the leftover orange juice—he froze his cup, then unfroze it. When Draco tried it the cup shattered.

He was distracted throughout most of breakfast, Harry's words ringing in his head. Draco couldn't deny his parents had done many unforgivable deeds against society and against him. Maybe they didn't love him or treat him like a perfect parent ought to, but as much as he wanted to take the easy route and hate them, Draco couldn't.  
It wouldn't feel right.

After having received mercy, the only moral response Draco could think to express his gratitude for it was to give it back: to his parents and whenever he could. He probably deserved it less than they, but here he was, laughing and talking with everyone he'd hurt.

When it was finally time to leave, Harry and Hermione had to yank Draco free of Astoria's grasp.

"We'll send you letters," Hermione said.

"And your clothes," Ron said.

"Luna will probably send letters too," Neville said.

Draco only nodded to all of these reassurances, never really having understood the feeling of saying bye to a friend. It actually hurt, physically.

"I'm guessing it'll be a while before you'll be back," Harry said. "But frankly, I think Blaise and Pansy aren't that great. I'd say you've been hanging out with the wrong sort of friends—" Harry stretched out his hand— "I can help you there."

The memory hit Ron before it did Draco, but Ron's laughter reminded him of who'd said those word.

Draco smirked. "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks."

* * *

 **A/N: So I wasn't sure if I should put 'the end' here or in the epilogue...Ima go with epilogues since I'm not mentally ready to type those words.**

 **Boom. That was it. That's the end of my weird-ass frozen/HP story. Your reviews have been amazing and definitely encouraged me to keep writing. Have an awesome week (or month, depending how long it takes me to edit)!**

 **-Lauralydney**


	22. Epilogue: 1 Year Later

**Epilogue**

Astoria Greengrass felt like she was walking on clouds.

It had been weeks since she last visited Draco, but today wouldn't be just a visit. Today he could finally return home. It had almost been twelve months since he'd been allowed home officially. Every time he would visit it would be under much secrecy and nowhere near the Malfoy Manor—it was the first place the reporters would look.  
Harry and McGonagall worked tirelessly to dispel the drama that followed the freezing of Hogwarts. It had taken a long, hard interviews and articles about the ice curse—with help from Jon's knowledge, Harry Potter's influence, and Lucius Malfoy's money—to convince the public that Draco Malfoy was not dangerous. Not anymore at least.

During his secret visits, Draco frequented the burrow where he would catch up with Luna, Neville, and (of course) Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Mrs. Weasley had been skeptical of what to make of Draco Malfoy after hearing the rumors and reading the paper.

 _Blood thirsty ice killer._

 _Death Eater turned obscurial._

 _Pureblood out to cleanse population._

Names like these didn't exactly ease her already tarnished impression of the boy. Astoria hadn't been there when Harry and Ron explained the full story to her after returning home immediately after the mission, but from what she'd heard, her outlook had changed.

But she was there for Draco's first visit. It was awkward enough to be comical. Draco was dangerously anxious on the walk there, and Astoria had to stop with him and let him freeze a tree before they continued.  
All the Weasley's had been previously acquainted with Astoria. Her presence made the first conversation easier. Astoria quite liked Weasleys, and the Weasleys were quickly fond of Astoria. Then again, most people were after about five minutes.

Mrs. Weasley was already more than prepared for the strange visitor. Whatever Harry and Ron said must've really gotten to her. The again, the story in itself said a lot—Draco Malfoy running away to die in order to save Luna. She greeted him warmly.

The other Weasleys were not prepared, but they eventually got used to him after a few quidditch rounds. Some even stopped hating him after they saw him get on with Harry and Ron. Mrs. Weasley always asked him to stay longer in the already bursting house. Astoria could tell Draco felt guilty for accepting, but he loved it considering all his friends were there. Also Arthur, Ginny, and George loved seeing the new ice tricks—which would become slightly more complicated and controlled with each visit. Draco Malfoy loved showing off.

The time had finally come. Draco had completed his basic training after almost a full year and Harry, McGonagall, and Lucius had gotten the papers and ministry to put a cork in it. Her Draco would be back for good.

It was summer again and the Burrow was burning up. Astoria got the feeling that for once George and Mr. Weasley _longed_ for Draco to be there. Who needs cooling charms when you have the descendant of Elsa?

Andromeda arrived with a two-year-old in a stroller. Astoria jumped up from her chair along with Harry.

"Is that who I think it is?"

"Indeed," Andromeda said.

"You're finally letting Dray meet him?"

"My nephew has proven to be quite unlike his father so far, plus," she gave the gurgling baby a warm smile, "he can only corrupt him so much at this age."

Andromeda had only visited the burrow when Draco was around once. Seeing his aunt for the first time was somewhat awkward, but apparently she didn't think so poorly of Draco as Astoria thought. Draco had mentioned something about talking to her picture, but the real Andromeda was much more formidable.

Astoria tickled the baby, realizing he had Draco's smile. That, or she was imagining it.

George walked in and took note of her brushed hair and summer dress. "Your pet is arriving soon I see?"

There was no malice in it. George had shared a room with Draco a couple times during his visits. It turned out they had similar taste in humor which connected them after they were done using it to insult each other.

Lunch was brought out and they all ate. Though plenty of the Weasley children had good paying jobs, much of their hospitality had been increased when a mysterious wealthy donor put a large number of galleons in Mr. Weasley's bank vault.  
They all secretly knew it was Draco, but no one ever said anything. He'd also gotten them a house elf for Christmas which earned him a long, boring lecture for Hermione. They named her snowflake (courtesy of George).

Hermione, Luna and Neville strolled in after lunch.

"Where's Draco?" Astoria asked.

"He went to show his parents the N.E.W.T.S. results," Neville answered. "He told us if he's not here in an hour, the reporters got him and he will need immediate rescue. Should've seen the faces of the students at school when he walked in for the exam—I'm not sure if it was more hate, fear, or worship."

"I think Jon's tutoring payed off," Luna said. "He looked calm during the exam."

"Probably because it doesn't matter if he fails," Hermione said.  
It was true. Draco had enough money to live more than comfortably, and he hadn't mentioned any future plans to Astoria either—not job related anyway. He wanted to marry her in Norway.

Then, with a disapproving look Hermione continued, "He really must be more careful. Everyone was on edge—it was not wise to freeze Pansy and Blaise' lips together mid-snog."

"He did what?" George cackled. The sound brought a smile to Mrs. Weasley's face just before she decided to be firm.

"None of that. He better hope I don't send him to sleep outside during the next thunderstorm. Reckless, honestly."

"That prank was only funny once, then?" George asked.

Astoria, Ginny, and Luna went up to Ginny's room to wait, eventually joined by Hermione. It was stuffy and crowded. Astoria could feel the beads of sweat building on her forehead.

"They won't allow Harry, Ron, or Neville to come, but they'll let you guys visit. Luna likes it there, don't you, Luna? Not that I don't love you, Ginny, but I think the walls are closing in."

"Then just go home," Ginny snapped.

"I'll be lonely. Plus, Draco stays here."

"The rules really leave us wondering how they let you date Draco," Hermione said. "Or even stay here in man town."

"What they don't know doesn't kill them."

Realizing for the millionth time that they weren't going to comply and she would be stuck in redheadville all summer, she dropped the small talk.

"What is it?"

"There's something I need to tell Draco," Astoria said. "But I think it would be easier if I tell all of you first."

"You're pregnant?"

Astoria punched Ginny—hard—on the shoulder before blushing furiously. "Of course not! We haven't even— _Ginevra_ stop laughing."

They were all laughing, but Astoria remained silent, looking down at her skirt.

"I was only joking—too much time with the twins... I mean, George. It's not true, is it?"

There was a silence.

"Bloody hell, it's true!"

"No!" Astoria shouted. "Quite the opposite, actually."

They waited.

Astoria thought back to the conversation with her parents, Teddy's laugh echoing downstairs. "I can't have children. I'm cursed—or some ancestor was. They think it was passed down to me since the numbers and symptoms match up. I've always been frailer than Daphne and...even if I never have kids, who knows how long I've got?"

"Cursed?" Ginny asked. "You look fine."

"I have good days."

"Then don't have kids," Ginny said.

"You forget who my boyfriend is—a pureblood with a dying bloodline. He'd kill for kids."

"You don't know that," Hermione said. "I'm pretty sure he'd rather just have you. Have you seen Draco around small children?"

Luna and Hermione had her hands on her shoulders, but Astoria ignored their attempts at comfort. Suddenly she didn't feel like she was walking on clouds.

The sound of Neville, Ron, and Harry shouting, plus Mrs. Weasley's usual "there he is!" let them all know the ice prince had arrived.

"I have to tell him."

"Maybe do it tonight," Hermione suggested. "After he's in a better post-quidditch mood."

"Not if I kick his butt he's not," Ginny said.

Ginny was one of the first to warm up to Draco given their little history together. That, and Astoria was one of her best friends. It was a given.  
They made their way downstairs. As usual, the rigid, awkward Draco broke his composure when he saw Astoria descend. That never got old.

They ran towards each other, Astoria trying not to squeal in front of everybody. He picked her up, spun her around, kissed her cheek, and put her down.

"Did you get taller?" Astoria asked.

"No, you got shorter."

Everyone was talking loud enough for Draco to whisper in Astoria's ear.

"Do I hug my aunt or go straight for the baby?"

"Go for the hug. I think she likes you now."

Draco smiled at her, leaned in for the kiss, and stopped when George shouted at them to get a room.

George, Astoria noted, had grown happier since Draco began staying there. He probably missed having someone to laugh at. Astoria didn't tell Draco this. Her boyfriend didn't need any more ammo.

She watched as his aunt hugged him back, first by obligation, then with genuine warmth. Draco still looked uncomfortable the whole time.

"Who might this be?" Draco asked.

"Your cousin Edward, though we call him Teddy."

The baby's hair turned black before he started pouting. "He wants his godfather," Andromeda explained.

Harry stepped forward and picked the baby up. It calmly wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulder.

"The chosen one is a crowd favorite," Draco said.

Suddenly, the baby's hair turned a light blond and it began reaching for Draco.

"No way," said Harry, holding the baby's face to his. "Why do you want _him_?"

"Seriously," Draco said, taking a small step back. "I've no idea how to hold you."

Teddy began to cry and Harry quickly handed it to Draco who held him like a fragile vase. They crying didn't stop. Probably because Draco looked terrified.

Draco looked around the room, but none offered to take the infant from him. He tried pulling the baby closer, but something about his red, snot and tear-streaked face made him think better of it.

Draco rocked it gently up and down, still holding it like a bomb. "Shit, how do I make it stop?"

"This is gold," Hermione said.

"Sing to him," Mrs. Weasley suggested.

In his panic, Draco did. It took them all aback. Draco never sang in front of anyone, not even her. He sang a soft melody Hermione must've showed him—it wasn't from any wizarding band she'd heard _._

 _"Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry_

 _And I will sing a lullaby_

 _Golden Slumbers fill your eyes_

 _Smiles awake you when you rise_

 _Sleep pretty darling do not cry_

 _And I will sing a lullaby."_

The baby had calmed during the first sentence, which made Draco's face soften, calming the baby more. Draco had slowly cradled him to his chest and soon Teddy was hugging him like he did Harry.

They clapped. Draco really did have an amazing voice. He looked up like he'd forgotten they were there and tried to go back to pretending they weren't.

"Nothing sexier than a man holding a baby," Ginny whispered to her.

Astoria fake laughed, but Ginny noticed. She felt a pang in her chest—Draco really would make a good father. She couldn't take that away from him. Ginny understood where her thought train was at. With no console to give her, she simply put her arm around her shoulder again.

"I have to tell him," she said again.

Draco left to help Mrs. Weasley cool down the house. Then, he left again to play quidditch. Then, he left again to show off his new tricks to the entire household. Astoria knew the first day was always like this, but the more the minutes passed, the more she felt she needed to tell him. If there was the chance she would get dumped, she wanted to get it over with now.

"Okay, now watch this." Draco lifted his hand in swirling motions. A stump sized figure rose from the ground.

"Wow," Ron applauded sarcastically. "You made a snow man."

Draco smirked and waited. The snowman blinked before rising up and shouting, "Hi! My name is Jon and I like warm hugs!"

Ron gasped. "Bloody hell, the monstrosity talks."

It walked closer to Ron and Ron scooted further down the lawn.

"Not monstrosity," the snowman said, "Jon."

Draco let it torment Ron for a while before making the flakes disperse.

It was dark by the time Astoria finally had some alone time with Draco. They were on the porch, but Astoria could hear Harry's snores on the roof. Ginny might've been listening, but she trusted Ginny.

"Hold it," Astoria said, pushing Draco back. "I didn't bring you out here to kiss you."

Draco blinked, backed off, then frowned before laying on his back on the porch. He sighed. "Well this sucks."

She shivered. Draco sat up.

"Sorry," Draco said, giving her his coat. "Too much snow?"

"No, it was fun."

"Then what's wrong? You didn't cheat on me with George, did you?"

Astoria was looked deeply at Draco. "How badly does your dad want an heir?"

Draco pretended to think about it. "Hmmm, well he's only told me he needed one about...a million times?"

She was definitely getting dumped. Astoria knew Draco loved her, but not once had she seen him go against his father. That was impossible, he was terrified of the man from what she'd heard.

She took a deep breath and told him everything.

Draco was silent.

"As I said, I understand if you break up with me. Dating someone on the verge of death isn't what you signed up for. I know that, and I would never expect you to be okay with that."

Draco looked at her like she'd just slapped him in the face for a long moment. Then, he scoffed, his face red with anger.

"Signed up for?" Draco said. "Astoria Greengrass, did you sign up for—" he flicked his hand up and a large snow hill appeared meters in front of them—"this? What did I get you for Christmas?"

She was taken aback by the question. "You took me to the beach and you got a sunburn. Quite ironic. Oh, and Jon lent you his horrid neon yellow flip flops."

The humor made Draco ease slightly, but he wasn't done ranting. "No, I mean as a physical present, Green."

"Oh," she clutched the ring around her necklace. "The promise rings."

"You not having kids is not enough for me to break that promise. Nothing is."

"Draco, I could die."

He flinched, then shook his head. "If we can beat my curse, we can beat anything. Astoria, I won't let you die. You're not allowed to die until we're more wrinkled than Ron's house elf." Draco clutched his chain. "I promise. Forget my father."

Astoria sighed in defeat, quickly realizing he would never accept the possibility. "If we don't have snot-nosed kids, then maybe."

Draco smiled, blocking the seriousness of the conversation. "I'm not much of a diaper changer anyway—what am I saying? I'm rich. The house elves can do it. After what I saw from Teddy today, I'm never touching a diaper again."

"You didn't even touch it. And, the house elves are _not_ raising our little girl."

"Girl? No way. Okay, maybe I'll change one diaper...with magic. Are we done? Can I kiss you now?"

"You're hopeless."

Hopeless, however, was no longer in Draco's dictionary. Hopeless was the boy who mocked and tormented others during his school year. Hopeless was the boy who became a death eater and failed to own up to it, believing no one, especially the golden trio, would ever be his friends after all he'd done.

But Draco Malfoy was no longer hopeless.

 _ **The End.**_

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you so much for your kind and encouraging reviews. They really mean so much to me.  
I'll miss writing this story.**

 **Bye 3**


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